


Don't Save Me

by hou_dini



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-02-07 19:53:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 83,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1911687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hou_dini/pseuds/hou_dini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first thing you should know about Fernando Torres is that he is a whore. Loosely based on 'Secret Diary of a Call Girl'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. José

**Author's Note:**

> Never say never, they say... Well, here's for trying again.
> 
> You should be aware that this story hasn't been beta'ed and that English is not my first language, so please be kind. I apologize beforehand for any mistakes you might find throughout this and the following chapters. If you spot anything wrong, let me know!
> 
> What it says on the tin: this is your mandatory footballer-as-a-rent-boy fic. The story is VERY heavy on the smut, there is a LOT of sex, so if you're sensitive about that sort of thing, don't read (or don't say I didn't warn you). The main pairing is S/F but I have temporarily paired Fernando up with basically everyone I could think of, so there's that. Each chapter will be about a different client. 
> 
> Let me know what you think. Feedback is much appreciated!

José is a very powerful man.

So much power invariably comes with a little evil. There's no way to climb as high as José has and not be a little ruthless, a little unmerciful, a little grim. He's all those things. And also incredibly charismatic, in a way that just seems inevitable. People either love him or fear him, sometimes at once and both very passionately. You can't be indifferent to José.

Fernando likes him. Mostly. Not always. But almost. José is a charming man with piercing eyes and a husky voice that exudes the confidence that only a man with the entire city of London (and more) wrapped around his little finger would have. Fernando knows better than to cross that kind of people, but, at the same time he wants to keep his distance, he's attracted to that man's mystery like a moth to the flames.

And, well - it's not like he has much of a choice, anyway. José is his best client, financially speaking. One job with Mourinho is better than five with anyone else. 

Today, though, Fernando's not exactly in the mood. He decided to take some time off, but then Xabi called with a special request from Mourinho and there's no saying no to that. Being an escort is really not as easy as some people might imagine. Not a high profile one, anyway. There's a lot more to it than just lying back and thinking of England. The sort of party Mourinho gives - it can make an entire career for an escort. Having the chance to impress at a place like that can be either the beginning of something great or the complete downfall of your life. Fernando has been to several of Mourinho's get-togethers - he's the Portuguese's favorite, something he's quite proud of. Pleasing that man has to be amongst the most difficult tasks anyone could ever face. But still. It takes being in a particular frame of mind to carry out his role to perfection and that's just not the case tonight.

He could've said no, but then he would risk getting dropped by José altogether. He deals very badly with rejection. Powerful men in general do, Fernando's learned. He considers himself lucky to have been assigned to one of Mourinho's parties almost as soon as he moved to London, and even luckier to have caught that man's eyes amongst dozens of boys and girls trying much harder than him. José likes who he likes and he rewards his favorites formidably. It can never be a bad thing, not in this business anyway. 

There's just something not quite right with Fernando tonight, though. He's tired and bored and in a terrible mood. His patience for small-talk that mostly consists in congratulating a bunch of old men for basically being the owners of the world whilst looking absolutely mesmerized and as slutty (however elegantly) as he possibly can is just non-existent. 

You see, Fernando lives this double life: there's him, Fernando Torres, poor boy from Madrid who just wants to enjoy his life and be left in peace, and there's El Niño, a professional of sex who's a phenomenon in bed. Becoming El Niño is all part of an act that doesn't come as naturally to him as it probably should. There's a world of difference between his real personality and the one he adopts for work. Hence the need for being in a particular frame of mind.

El Niño, it seems, just refuses to come out tonight, and that is making Fernando extremely anxious.

Just as soon as he arrived, José pulled him aside, took him to his office and, after offering him a glass of bourbon, briefed him on the job for the night.

"I've got some really important partners in potential here who have all heard wonders about you. I want you to impress them, make them want you like they have never wanted anything in their whole lives - and make it very clear that you're mine," he said.

So there is a bigger purpose for him tonight - which just enhances the gravity of his problem. José will be _very_ disappointed if he doesn't accomplish his task. El Niño - he would never let something like this slip, he would make this the best night of his life. Fernando, however, kind of doesn't give a shit about any of it, which is worrisome. If he doesn't find a way to shift the switch soon enough, he might as well just give up on this life entirely, because he'll sure as hell never get another important assignment. And Xabi's probably going to eat his liver as well.

Before he left José's office, he was made to kneel down and give the man a blow-job, which is totally fine, really. That's the sort of thing he could do even in a catatonic state. Mourinho tipped him well for his efforts - not even close to what he'll be making by the end of the night if he manages to entertain his boss' wishes, though. So that's something to look forward to.

Fernando tries to follow the orders for about one hour before it gets too much and he starts to edge dangerously close to telling one of those guys to go fuck themselves. So he excuses himself and goes after a place to cool down, away from José's hawk eyes. Maybe if another one of his partners disappears at the same time he'll think Fernando's doing something right. That'll at least buy him some time.

He tries a couple of doors on the seemingly infinite corridor of the penthouse - one of the many owned by Mourinho, and one his wife has no idea of, Fernando's been told. Some of the rooms are already taken by other boys and girls Mourinho's brought here tonight and it takes a couple of attempts until he finds one that looks empty. 

It's a very large room, but it somehow seems very blank. All the other corners of this apartment Fernando's been to look rather elegantly decorated, while this has nothing more than a bed and a mirror on the opposite wall. It makes sense for Mourinho's party-place to look as though it came straight from a motel; why would he spend money getting rooms that are there with the sole purpose of serving important men as they fuck some whores look nice? 

But anyway. None of his business. The important part is: it's empty and it has a balcony, which is just what he needs right now.

Fernando doesn't bother turning any lights on, he just slides the balcony door open and steps outside. The cold wind makes him shiver - he left his jacket by the door. But it's not unpleasant. He takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes for a second. God, how he wishes he could just go home right now...

"Hiding too?"

Fernando is startled out of his thoughts by a man who's straddling the ledge on the far corner of the balcony, leaning against the wall behind and smoking a cigarette - and who he had, somehow, failed to notice. 

He's in panic for a moment, not sure what to say or who that man is, and the guy just stares back at him, smiling. He's too young to be one of Mourinho's _partners_ \- at least Fernando was never introduced to any who looked to be less than forty. So he must be one of the boys (and must've had Fernando's same idea to retreat from the party scene). Except... Fernando knows all of the boys. They all work for Xabi. And this is not one of them.

"Don't worry," he continues, when Fernando doesn't say anything, paralyzed and frankly confused. "I won't tell."

"I'm sorry, I didn't notice you were there," he finally speaks.

"That was the point," the guy answers, winking at him. "You don't have to look so worried. I know it can get pretty overwhelming outside."

Fernando stuffs his hands in his pockets and takes a step closer for better inspection. He is quite... attractive, to say the least. Strong, young, nice haircut, expensive looks... He's one of the high-profiles. Which means Fernando should _definitely_ know him.

"I don't think we've met," he says. "Have I seen you before?"

"Don't think so," the man replies. "I would remember you." He smiles again and for some reason Fernando has a feeling the guy is... flirting with him? That's just impossible, right? An escort knows an escort when he sees one. If he's an escort then he must know that Fernando's one as well and why would a prostitute flirt with another prostitute? It just doesn't make any sense.

"Are you a friend of Mourinho's?" he asks, going for casual just in case he's reading the whole thing wrong. If he's not a prostitute then it is very likely he'll get offended to be mistaken by one.

"Friend?" The guy lets out a sardonic laugh and takes a drag from his cigarette. "Not at all."

Not a friend, not an escort... Who the fuck is he?

"Well, then what are you doing here?" Fernando asks, shrugging. "I mean, clearly you don't want to be."

"Yeah, well. There are a million places I'd rather at be than here right now."

"Why are you?"

"There are just some things you can't turn down. Family, you know. It's a boring shit."

Fernando fails to keep his surprise concealed and cocks the man an eyebrow - which he notices immediately by the way he grins. "Family?"

"A bit of a loose description in our case," he explains, taking one final drag from the cigarette before throwing it away into the night. "But José _is_ kind of my father and I'm _kind of_ expected to meet some people tonight, so."

Well, fuck.

José had mentioned his son a few times, mostly while in conversation with other guests - his son who refused to take his spot as the heir of the Mourinho companies and was never anywhere to be seen, wasting his life away and - more importantly, in Mourinho's opinion - spending his money.

Fernando had this mental picture of this skinny 20-year-old playboy with long hair and diamond earrings, driving a convertible Ferrari and fanning himself with 100 pound bills. Never in his life had he ever imagined that José's son would be a, gorgeous, and b, show up at one of his parties.

If anything, he looks a lot more centered than his father, if he's hiding at the balcony rather than outside, fucking whores.

"You look surprised," he comments, shifting around to sit with both his legs to the inside of the balcony now.

"No, I'm -" he starts, automatically turning El Niño on, the lying bitch who's never caught off-guard, before he realizes he's still not in that mood. Maybe this guy is exactly one of the very important people he should be meeting and making eyes at, but you know what? Fuck it. "Yeah, I'm a little surprised."

"Why?"

"I don't know, I just - You're his son."

"Even men like José have sons."

Fernando smiles. "It's an odd thought, but I guess you're right." 

"It doesn't make them fathers, though. There's a difference."

Fernando thinks he gets what he means, but what is he going to say? Agree that José seems to be a lousy dad because he spends his nights away fucking prostitutes or ask him more about his visibly deteriorated relationship with his father?

"So you're the little master," he comments instead, just to have something to say.

"I wouldn't say that. Saying I'm the little master would imply I live here, which I don't. Not anymore. I used to, though. Before José turned the penthouse into a party lounge. This used to be my room."

So that explains why it's so empty, he thinks. The boy probably took all this stuff with him and Mourinho never bothered replacing anything. "Well, you had a beautiful view," he says, taking a look around. It really does have a nice view of the Thames with its borders all lit up. It's gorgeous.

"Yeah..." The guy has a wistful tone to his voice as his eyes seem to get lost for a moment as he takes in the view as well. "I used to love sitting here at night. London looks most gorgeous like this."

"Everything does, when you see from afar."

The guy gazes back at Fernando with a quizzical look on his face. "Why do you say that?"

Fernando shrugs. "Nothing is ever as nice when you look closely." He's thinking about all the homeless people sleeping on cold sidewalks, the junkies crawling over each other like rats in dirty alleys and the night walkers selling their bodies for a few quid downtown, but he doesn't really feel like sharing.

Mourinho's son jumps from the ledge and approaches Fernando in a sudden movement that startles him. He invades Fernando's personal space, forcing him take a step backwards, squinting his eyes slightly. "I beg to differ," he says. "You still look pretty."

"I'm sorry, are you - flirting with me?"

The guy smirks. "I might be."

Now that is something very strange. If he's Mourinho's son and he's been invited to the party, doesn't he know what kind of thing happens here? Wouldn't he know what Fernando is? If so, why would he be _flirting_?

Jesus, maybe he doesn't know. Maybe he thinks the boys are all just guests, like everyone else. It makes sense that he wouldn't know, right? Mourinho may be a jerk, but he wouldn't be the kind of jerk who cheats on his wife while his son is right there to witness... or not knowingly witness, anyway. Or would he?

For some reason, it feels flattering that someone is interested in him, for real. It's not something that happens very often. Fernando doesn't really go out that much - he does enough drinking and partying and going crazy while at work. On his time off, he'd rather just sleep, watch TV and eat take-away at home, alone. Besides, what's the point of going out by himself, anyway? To pick-up one night-stands? Why would he want one when he already has all the sex he could want (and some he doesn't)? _Meeting people_ is not even an option - who would ever want to have a relationship with a prostitute? Fernando's never tried one, but he knows dozens of people who have, and it never works out. Nobody understands or accepts, so you have to keep it a secret, and it's just _impossible_ to be an escort and keep a boyfriend in the dark for too long. They _always_ find out and then it _always_ gets ugly and it _always_ ends in tears, so why bother?

He has to admit, though... It does feel nice to have someone courting him just because. Too bad he's José's son. 

"You know what, I think I should go back," Fernando says, stepping away from him.

"Or you could stay," he retorts.

"Don't think that's a very good idea."

"Why? Afraid you won't be able to resist me?"

Fernando narrows his eyes at the absolutely cheeky smile on the man's face and feels an incredibly wave of sympathy for him. "I can see the resemblance now," he says, grinning. "You're just as cocky as your father."

The guy laughs - and it's such a nice laughter. Not affected and phony like the ones Fernando is so used to hearing. It's outright and rich and honest. He could stay here all night just listening to this man while he laughs. "That is not the first time I hear that. Something would have to rub off, right?"

"I really have to go." _Before I decide to stay_ , he completes, mentally.

"Are you _sure_? Think about it... Old men, boring conversations, ugly people... I think you will find it a lot more pleasant to stay here with me."

"Really?"

"Yup."

"And what do you have in mind?"

 _Shit_. He's going straight to the trap.

"Oh-ho-ho! Who's flirting now?" Fernando laughs, shakes his head, thinks it's all very ridiculous that he's having a nice time with José's son. It's all too tempting to be here with this stranger who doesn't seem to have a clue about what he's doing in his father's party. Perhaps sensing that Fernando's starting to slip away again, the little master takes another step forward, holds him by the wrist - gently, but firm. "Would you like me to describe what I have in mind or would you rather I show you?"

"What do you reckon will impress me the most?"

The guy smiles wolfishly at him before pulling Fernando closer into his arms. He places one hand on the small of his back to press Fernando against his body and, with the other, holds the side of his face to pull him into a kiss. Fernando offers no resistance whatsoever. There's a small voice in his head telling him that he shouldn't; if Mourinho walks in on them, he's doomed. But the kiss is so good he doesn't find it in him to stop it. He holds the man by his hips and deepens the kiss further, feeling a tingly sensation go up his spine when the other man purrs against his mouth.

The way he kisses and holds him tells Fernando that it really isn't like with the other guys. It's neither slightly distant, like his head is somewhere else, nor completely possessive, as though he takes Fernando for a property they have acquired the right to do as they please with for a certain amount of time. No, this kiss - it's soft and calm and _new_. Fernando's not nervous, exactly, but maybe a bit fidgety. 

He's making out with someone as himself, not as El Niño, for the first time in a very long time and it feels equal parts strange and amazing. He could do this all night, he thinks. They don't even have to go any further than this. Just snogging will be enough to send him home with butterflies in his stomach.

That's when the guy pulls away, just a tiny bit, and murmurs, "How much?"

Fernando stops, momentarily confused. "What?"

The guy starts kissing his neck. "How much?"

He puts one flat hand on the man's chest and pushes him away gently, just enough to look him in the eyes. That's when it all makes sense. "You know?" Fernando asks, disbelieved.

The little master blinks at him. "Know what?"

"About... me?"

"What, that you're one of the rent boys? I figured."

The words go straight to his heart like an arrow. He's not ashamed of doing what he does in any way; if he were, then he simply wouldn't do it. It's not like it's even an offensive term or anything. A rent boy is exactly what he is. But that, coming from this guy's mouth, so unceremoniously - that hurt. Here he was, allowing himself a few minutes of contentment, and _bam_. It's like a slap to his face. 

"What?" Mourinho's son asks, leaning forwards for another kiss. Fernando turns his face to the side and disentangles himself from the other man's arms. "What happened?" he tries again, sounding aggrieved.

"Nothing," Fernando answers, fixing his clothes and checking on the mirror to see if he's too disheveled. His expression is that of a person who just watched something die. "I have to go back outside."

"What? No. Why? I thought you were -"

"I changed my mind. I have a job to do. I'm sorry."

Fernando shifts around on his heels and almost runs, taking a deep breath before marching down the hall to go back to the party area.

"Hey!" Mourinho's son skips behind to catch up. "Are you offended?"

"Let's just drop it, ok?"

"I wanna know what happened in there. Did I say something offensive?"

"No, you didn't."

"Then what's the matter?" Fernando stops when they reach the large living room where the party is being held. The guy stops in front of him. "I'm sorry," he says, looking genuinely apologetic. There's something quite desperate about the way he's looking at Fernando, like a puppy that's peed on the carpet. It could almost be touching if only Fernando weren't so unjustifiably pissed off. "I didn't mean to be offensive, ok? I've never done this before, I don't know how to - I don't know what's the... _procedure_. Should I have waited or...?"

Fernando sighs. He's just making it worse. "Just forget about that."

"Why did you did change your mind?"

"Because I didn't come here to do... you."

"I can pay you."

"That's cute."

"Just name the price."

"I don't want your money."

"How much is my father paying you? I can give you double."

"I don't want your money," Fernando repeats, pausedly, for emphasis. "I won't sleep with you."

"One thousand? Two? I can pay you five."

"Stop it," he says, a hint of real heat on his voice. "It's not about the money."

"Then what is it about?"

"It's about the fact that I don't have to sleep with anybody I don't want to, and right now I don't want you. There are plenty of other boys out there for you to go wave your pounds at. Leave me alone."

"Niño!" Fernando turns to find Mourinho walking towards them. He takes a step further way from his son and smiles his best good whore smile. The Portuguese slides a hand behind his back and pulls him close to his body in a clearly possessive gesture. Fernando watches from the corner of his eyes as his son's gaze follows the move. The guy's brow visibly creases and his lips are pressed into a tight line. "I was looking for you all over."

"I was right here," he says, pressing closer to the Portuguese just to annoy his son a little bit more.

"I see you've met my son," he says, and doesn't sound pleased at all. Fernando was right to think José would be pissed to find him making out with his heir.

"We've been introduced."

"I was talking to him," the son answers, with a quiet fury behind his words.

"Really? What about?"

"Nothing of importance," Fernando adds before he has a chance of answering.

"Well, I hope Sergio's not harassing you. He can be quite inconvenient when he starts drinking."

"I wasn't harassing him," _Sergio_ replies. Fernando is a little bothered by the fact he likes the sound of that name, and especially the way José made it sound very Spanish instead of Portuguese.

"He wasn't," Fernando confirms. He could've said that he was being a nuisance, yes, just a little bit, but he's afraid of what Mourinho would do. His ideas of punishment can be quite unorthodox, from what Fernando's heard.

"Good. Can you come with me, then?"

"Of course."

As they walk away together, Mourinho says, "Don't drink too much, Sergio. You know your mother hates it when you get wasted, she'll start blaming me for your irresponsibility again."

Fernando takes one last look behind his shoulder. Sergio just stands there, fuming, as they walk away. 

And to think two tiny words turned a very promising night in a complete disgrace. _How much_.

For some reason, it still stings.

x-x-x

AVB is one of Mourinho's new potential partners in crime. Or _business associate_ , as they say.

José tells him no names, just AVB, and Fernando takes that as a sign that the guy might be a very recognizable figure somewhere. Maybe in Portugal. The mere fact the patriarch of the Mourinho Industries is passing Fernando on to someone else tonight is intriguing enough.

AVB is very serious and very much younger than all the other guests - bar Sergio, of course. He's not exactly attractive, but he's not hard to look at either. Fernando likes his beard - it's ginger, like Xabi's. If he squints really hard, he might even be able to pretend he's screwing Xabi. The thought brings a smile to his face.

They talk for a while before AVB leads him to one of the rooms. Fernando searches very discreetly around for Sergio but doesn't see him anymore. Probably off to fuck someone else, he thinks. The idea doesn't sit well with him; that five minutes interaction might have done a pretty good job at damaging his ego.

Sex with AVB is... Well, terrible.

The guy is very stiff at first. His hands go nowhere lower than Fernando's waist, like he's got no idea what to do with them. Those are the most exhausting clients, the prostitute-virgin ones. It's cute that they get all nervous around him, but it's such a nuisance having to teach them everything.

Fernando pours him some scotch then kneels down in front of him and sucks him off to make him loosen up a little bit. Even that is a bit difficult in the beginning, but he slowly starts to let himself go. When AVB is sufficiently hard, Fernando undresses and they get in bed.

AVB fucks him from behind and doesn't last more than five minutes. Fernando is barely hard when the guy comes and then crashes down next to him on the bed.

He feels a little guilty for how awful the whole thing was, because he's not in the right frame of mind and his mood has been considerably worsened by Mourinho's son. He could've tried a little harder to make the experience more enjoyable if he wanted to, he knows, but the largest portion of him just wanted to get it over with as fast as possible.

AVB doesn't seem to mind, though. He smiles, thanks Fernando for the _amazing_ time (what the fuck is the problem with that guy?) and tips him greatly before getting dressed and going back outside.

Fernando stays for a while longer, drinking by himself, before he too gets dressed and goes back to the party. Mourinho gives him a tight hug when he finds him, says that he's brilliant. He takes it as a sign that AVB has agreed to whatever Mourinho wanted him to agree to.

The Portuguese is so happy he pays Fernando double the settled price and tells him he's free to go if he wants to. This is the kind of night where Fernando could make a fortune. He can take maybe two or three more guys, four if he makes it fast. Usually, this would be a dream assignment. Not tonight, though. 

So instead of earning two weeks' worth of fucks in one night, he gladly takes what Mourinho gives him and goes home. 

El Niño needs to lay low for a while. Not everything is about the money.

 _How much_.


	2. Ramos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If, by the end of the chapter, you feel like you haven't found as many mistakes or awkwardly worded phrases as in the first chapter of this story, say thank you to [crazychelseablue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/crazychelseablue/profile), who so kindly offered to beta-read this for me! Thank you! <3
> 
> This chapter is still not as much about the smut as I'd like it to be. But the next one will be more like it, I guess. I guess I need to get the story going first.
> 
> Please feel free to share any comments or thoughts. This story is pretty much all written but I might still add a new client here and there, so I guess it would be nice to hear about pairings you might like to see?

Fernando's not really the type to take on new clients all the time. He needs to keep himself exclusive, otherwise he just loses market value. Sounds harsh but it's the bitter truth of life in this line of business. You are your own product. If you don't over valuate yourself, then no one will. Intrigue and exclusiveness, as in all luxury markets, play a great part in the deal. The other part is guaranteed satisfaction, which, in his case, shows through his 100% of positive feedback. Everyone he takes as a client comes back for more - but he only ever keeps the best ones. 

See, things are a bit reverse when it comes to El Niño. He doesn't get picked by his clients; he does the picking. 

Fernando's a lot more than just a pretty face, so it comes as no wonder that he's absolute number 1 at the agency. 

When he stops by to check his schedule, Xabi welcomes him in the office with a mock-satisfied smile half-hidden behind his beard.

"Oh, look," he says, slumping back against his extravagantly large chair. Xabi's office is pristine and very tastefully decorated with incredibly expensive items. He's the most high-profile male escort agent in London and a huge chunk of the money he makes comes from Fernando himself. El Ninõ is something like the Kim in this Kardashian family. Xabi knows that, which is really the only reason why he tries very hard not to boss Fernando around and demand that he show up every week or take up every big name that phones in asking for him. He _tries_ to keep his discontentment to himself, but doesn't always succeed.

"The prodigal son returns," Xabi says, voice bleeding irony, as Fernando makes himself comfortable.

"Bite me, Xabi."

"I expect you went somewhere sunny on your vacation."

"What vacation?"

"I assumed that's what you were doing since you disappeared for two weeks without telling me anything."

"Yeah, well. I was busy."

"Busy with what?" Xabi's eyes narrow just slightly. "I hope you weren't doing free-lance. Again."

Fernando rolls his eyes. He'd gotten himself in real trouble with Xabi when he decided to take some jobs outside of the agency. It had been almost a year ago, but Xabi never lets it go. He was genuinely hurt at the time, something which Fernando never really understood completely. Probably felt like he was being abandoned - or that his goose with the golden eggs was ready to leave the nest and then freaked out. Either way, Fernando doesn't want to repeat the experience. When guys discover they can call you directly they just never stop pestering and Fernando quickly ran out of ways to tell the gentlemen that he wasn't going to be seeing any of them anymore. It turns out it's a lot harder dealing with those guys than he'd imagined. Besides, Xabi does all the hard work; he establishes the fees, the location of the meetings, and arranges for a body guard to follow the boys around in case something goes wrong. 30% of his earnings seems like a decent price for all that.

"I told you a million times I'm not doing that anymore," he replies, impatient.

"Good. Then what could you have possibly busied yourself with?"

"That's none of your business, is it?"

"Well, if you're in that sort of mood, your time off can't have been that nice."

"I'm not in a mood."

"What, is that supposed to be you happy?"

Fernando sighs wearily. Xabi seems to find it hard to understand that there is a real fine line between Fernando and El Niño. In here, he's the prostitute who Xabi sets up with clients. Outside, whatever the hell he does with his life is none of Xabi’s business. Living this double life thing is not easy and the less he mixes both things, the better. Xabi only ever needs to know what concerns El Niño - the wonder boy who's a phenomenon in bed; Fernando, the loving son, good and respectful neighbor and dedicated friend, is not under his scope.

"Can you just tell me what I've got?"

"Certainly. Where would you like me to start, this week's pile or last week's?" Xabi opens a large book in front of Fernando where he writes down all the contacts, jobs and calls he receives for the boys. Fernando's questioned him a million times about why he doesn't just use the computer and start sending them their schedules through text messages or e-mails, but Xabi's too suspicious to trust electronics. He thinks someone might hack into their system and fuck their lives up completely. Not only would he go to jail, but Fernando and the boys would be completely exposed - as would all of their high-profile costumers. A book is easy to carry home every night and even easier to burn in case all hell breaks loose.

Fernando still thinks it's stupid, but he can't deny that Xabi has a good point there.

"That many?" he asks, bored. 

"You're the star of the company, Niño."

"Maybe you should get another star."

"Getting overwhelmed?" Xabi smirks.

"No," Fernando replies, firmly. "But I'm still just one guy. My ass is not made of steel, I can't take on 50 guys a week."

"Don't worry about that, I'll just pass on the ones you don't want to the other boys." Xabi starts reading the list. "I should say, though, I think you made a very good impression at that Mourinho gig. Several of his partners have called asking for you."

"Really?" Fernando frowns. "I only fucked one."

"One? You're getting too picky, Niño."

"I'm exclusive."

Xabi rolls his eyes. "Tomato, tomahto..."

"Did Stevie call?"

Xabi snorts. He hates hearing about Stevie. He's the one guy Fernando's always willing to make concessions for and the only reason why Stevie even started calling Xabi instead of going straight to Fernando was because Xabi threw a small tantrum when he found out. Fernando doesn't even consider him a costumer, really. The fact Stevie pays him is mere formality. He wouldn't mind if Stevie didn't - in fact, he has told him that several times. But the Scouser insists, and he won't deny that Stevie's fat tips are very much welcome, indeed. 

But he's not like the other ones - he has Fernando's number, he knows where he lives and calls him by his real name. They've been seeing each other since Fernando was still a regular street walker in Liverpool, long before he became _El Niño_. Ever since he left for London, Stevie started taking time to come and visit every now and again. Their meetings have become more and more sparse, but never completely ceased to happen. In a very twisted way, they're like friends. Only they sleep together and Stevie pays him afterwards. It doesn't make a lot of sense except to the two of them.

Xabi can't stand the man he sees as a rival of some sort - God knows why - even though he's never even met Stevie in person. The fact Stevie keeps mocking him every time he calls doesn't help, but Fernando never tells him to stop. He has to admit that he enjoys seeing Xabi all riled up. Any opportunity to get that Spaniard's perfect straight lines out of sorts is a good opportunity. God is witness to how much he hassles the hell out of his boys.

"Wasn't Stevie here like two weeks ago?" the older man asks.

"Yes."

"Then it's too soon for you to be asking about him."

"He said he might come back sooner this time."

"Oh, isn't he a darling?" Xabi gives him the fakest of fake smiles and moves on. "Frank called twice last week."

"Oh. Frank's good."

"Thought you'd say so. I have you scheduled with him on Friday."

"How come you've scheduled me without my approval?"

"Stop whining, Fernando. Frank's one of your best clients. Continue to ignore his calls and you'll lose him to someone else. Sometimes I think you need to learn a few things about fidelity in this business."

Fernando barks out a laugh. "Oh, please. Teach me all about fidelity within prostitution." 

"You're way over your head, kid. Tone down the arrogance, yeah?"

"You taught me everything I know in that department, remember?"

"Oh, yes, I do," Xabi says, shaking his head. "I'm very much aware that I have created a monster."

"Anyone else?"

"Branislav?" Fernando makes a face, Xabi opens his mouth to protest, but gives up mid-way and simply scratches the name on the book. "More work for Cesc… How about Roman?”

"No mood for Russians." 

"Seriously, Fernando?" Xabi complains around a sigh, but scratches the name out anyway. "Luis?"

"Which Luis?"

"Suárez."

"Are you fucking crazy? He bit me!" 

"So? Little bite is part of the drill."

"No, he _actually_ bit me. As in, we weren't even started and he just dug his teeth into my shoulder. That guy's crazy. Send him over to Cesc. Cesc enjoys crazy fuckers." 

"I think sometimes it might be good to remind yourself that you're a whore, Fernando. If people pay to bite you, you should let them."

"I'll let you know when I'm in the mood for vampirism. Who's this?" Fernando asks, leaning over the desk and pointing to a name he hadn't seen before on the book.

"One of the new ones."

"What's the name?"

"Just Ramos. No first name."

"No first names always sound important."

"They do. This one said he'd be willing to meet you at the Ritz."

"The Ritz?" Fernando's eyes widen in surprise. Not that he's not used to five star hotels and everything, but the Ritz - it's _really_ high profile. So much so that his clients rarely ever choose places like that - not only is it too expensive for someone who's already paying a small fortune for a few hours with a prostitute who will, for obvious reasons, put out wherever they want, but it's also the sort of place where some of them might run into people they know. "I'm intrigued."

Xabi smiles. "Thought you would be."

"Did he say anything else?"

"Nope. Just that."

"How do we know it's safe?"

"We don't. He did use the safe line, though, and the call was made shortly after the Mourinho party, so I'm guessing he's one of the gentlemen you bewitched with your charisma and irresistible sex-appeal." Fernando glares. "But I can send Kyrgi to watch your back, of course, if you want."

"Ok. Sounds interesting."

"Can it be tonight?"

"That's too soon."

"He sounded desperate. The sooner, the better, he said. And it's been a while since he last called."

Fernando bites on his lower lip and considers the idea for a moment. He wasn't looking forward to going back to work _just yet_ , but he hasn't seen anyone since Mourinho and his associate. Maybe it's time he starts making some money again. And, well, it's the Ritz. "Fine. Tonight at nine. Text me the number of the room when you have it."

"Brilliant!" Xabi says, sounding really excited and immediately taking the phone to call back the Ramos guy. "I am so happy you're finally taking on a new client I could suck you off right now, Fernando," he says, to which Fernando cocks him an amused eyebrow. It would probably feel too weird - he can't really see Xabi doing that sort of stuff, although he knows for a fact that he’d been a rent boy himself, before he decided he could have a brighter future behind the scenes. To be honest, Fernando can't really remember ever seeing Xabi with anyone - not a date, not a boyfriend, or a girlfriend... That's strange, for someone who does what he does. In any case, Fernando wouldn't be unwilling to accept Xabi's gratefulness - if anything because it hasn't gone by unnoticed how extremely attractive his wannabe boss is. 

As though reading his thoughts, Xabi adds, "I said I _could_ , if you weren't so full of yourself already."

Fernando laughs and then shrugs. "Maybe one day."

"Keep dreaming. Oh, hello. Is this Mr. Ramos?" He smirks at Fernando, his eyes sparkling with lechery. "I have good news for you, sir. Niño will see you tonight."

x-x-x

Ramos is new.

New guys always make Fernando nervous. Doesn't matter how many years he's been doing this, he gets invariably antsy before meeting a new client. In some ways, it's a bit like going on a blind date.

Fernando spends a lot more time getting ready for new clients. He picks his clothes carefully, fixes his hair to perfection, makes sure to take his beauty nap in the afternoon to make sure he'll be fully energized. He has to be at his absolute best to make a good first impression; the client has to love him at first sight. Learning his way around new people can be tricky, but Fernado actually enjoys that part, the bit before everything becomes a routine. Not that he doesn't appreciate the clients whose sweet spots are all well known, but figuring out what sparks people is just as exciting; where to touch to make them writhe under his hands, where to kiss to make them hard in anticipation, just how exactly to moan or roll his hips to make the other person scream in pleasure. He loves that part, the fascinating beauty of discovery. 

It's been a while since his last new client, so Fernando's particularly eager. Kyrgiakos, the towering Greek body guard Xabi sent with him, is casually waiting down at the bar. _Ramos_ doesn't sound very English, but it could just be a fake name. Some of his clients use codenames to keep their privacy, more or less. Not that there is much to hide once you get in bed with a prostitute, but, well. 

A voice speaks from inside as he knocks on the door. "It's open!" 

With a rush of adrenaline going through his veins, Fernando walks in, but there's no one in sight.

"Ramos?" he calls.

"In the bathroom! Just a second!"

Fernando takes in the room as he gets out of his jacket. It's gorgeous. A place fit for royalty, he thinks. Or those really famous Hollywood stars. Must cost a fortune. It only makes him more excited; who is this man who would pay this much for a room just to meet with a prostitute? A really good, really high-class prostitute, but still. Fernando's had his fair share of five-star hotels but this - this is on a completely different level.

"Do you like it?"

He shifts around ready to say something lewd and totally inappropriate when his eyes meet with the very self-satisfied and gloating figure of José Mourinho's son wearing, apparently, nothing but a very fluffy dark blue robe.

"You!" is all Fernando manages to say.

Sergio laughs, clearly very impressed with the look of utter shock on Fernando's face. "Didn't think I'd find you, did you? Am I doing it right this time? Cause talking doesn't seem to do the trick for you, so - you can see I made a huge investment," Sergio motions his hands around the room.

"Is this some kind of joke?" Fernando's voice is ice cold as he tries his best to remain civil. All the excitement of a second ago obliteraed from his body to make room for sheer indignation.

"Why would it be a joke?"

"I told you, I don't want your money."

"Well, it didn't seem to me like you would take me for no money either, so I had to take my chances, didn't I?"

"I'm not sleeping with you."

"Why not? I'm a customer, you can't turn me down."

"I can turn down whoever the fuck I want."

"You wouldn't do that to the son of one of the most powerful men in this city, would you?" Sergio cocks him an ironic eyebrow. Fernando balls his hands into fists not to punch him right there. "I don't think he would be too happy about it. You do want to have other customers, don't you?"

"Are you threatening me?"

"Not at all. I'm just pointing out all the options."

"There's a body guard down at the bar. All I have to do is call him and he'll be here in five seconds to kick the arrogant shit out of you."

"Oh, come on," Sergio says, moving towards a table in the corner where there's champagne inside a bucket of ice. "Don't be so grim."

"You gave a fake name just to trick me into coming here."

"It's not fake. It's my real name." Sergio notices the strange frown on Fernando's face and laughs. "I get that every time," he says, serving two glases. "José is not my real father. He married my mom when I was two. I haven't got his name. I'm a Ramos, not a Mourinho. Here, have a drink."

Fernando hesitates but accepts the champagne. He's so damn angry right now, a little alcohol might help. Sergio watches with amusement as he downs the whole flute at once. "You look thirsty."

"I look like I want to hit you with this glass, is what I fucking look like."

"Come on. You have to admit I have outdone myself," Sergio says, motioning his arms around. Fernando feels the blood boiling in his veins. Those rich kids... Why had he had the impression, for one miserable second, that the spawn of Mourinho would be a decent human being? So far he'd proven to be no different than all the other spoilt brats Fernando's used to. Nose way up in the sky, thinks he owns the goddamn world - and everyone in it. 

"You are so..." Fernando bites his lips as he searches for the right word. "Despicable." His voice comes out drenched in venom. 

"Despicable?" Sergio seems surprised. Like he honestly thought he was doing something magnificent here. Almost a favor to Fernando. "You don't seem to think that about José. I can't be that much worse than he is."

"So that's what this is all about then? Your father?" Fernando starts, a quiet fury simmering behind his words. "You're just another sad rich kid, resenting his daddy for not giving him enough attention. Probably angry at the fact that he spends more time with _whores_ than he does with you. This whole thing, this whole pathethic pantomime," Fernando gesticulates frantically. "This is all about hurting daddy, isn't it? You went after one of his prostitutes because you think you can _taint_ me somehow and ruin this for him, thus proving some ridiculous spoilt kid's point." Visibly in shock, Sergio opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. Fernando's anger, on the other hand, hasn't subsided yet, so he just ploughs on. "Let me tell you something, you fucking idiot. I'm not one of your stupid puppets that you can just toy with for your own selfish benefit. This is not a joke, _I_ am not a joke and you're wrong if you think I'm going to take part in any of this. You think you're so much better than your father... You can take your money and his money if you like and shove it, for all I care. I don't need it. I don't give a flying fuck if I never see his face again, or yours. I'm sick of idiots with daddy issues like yourself. If you need to get treatment, go talk to a fucking therapist."

By the time his rant ends, Fernando is nearly spitting on Sergio's face. Somehow he managed to keep his voice in a relatively civil tone, but his words were exploding with vile. Sergio stares at him completely dumbstruck, like he's got no idea what just happened. His half clueless, half flabbergasted expression makes Fernando realize he doesn't really know from which pit inside of him that much hatred came from. Sergio has been awakening these strange reactions in him since they met. It's almost like he's feeling... betrayed. And offended. Which makes absolutely no sense.

Sergio's not the first person to hire a prostitute to hurt someone else and he will definitely not be the last. As long as he's getting paid, Fernando couldn't care less. Except, apparently, when it comes to Mourinho's son. Or stepson. Or whatever. Not that it would be very advisable to engage in any sort of relationship, professional or not, with one of his most relevant clients' heir anyway. But it's not just about that. Hell, it's not about that _at all_. Fernando's violent and angry reactions are powered on everything but reason. 

It's so annoying to be this mad about something and not know why.

"Wow," Sergio says after a while, still very baffled. "That was... I don't even know what that was. Definitely unexpected." He bites on the inside of his lower lip, pensively, eyeing Fernando more seriously now. "And it was frankly kinda hurtful."

"Good. It was meant to be."

"Ok, let me just..." He raises his palms out in the air signaling a truce, asking for his turn to counter-argue. Fernando knows he shouldn't listen; he's got no reason to. He should just turn around and go yell at Xabi for being such an idiot - even though he had no way of knowing - and to never book him with Sergio Ramos ever again. Instead, he crosses his arms over his chest stubbornly, lifts his chin and waits. "I did something very stupid in using the daddy card on you. I wasn't planning on telling him about anything. He doesn't even know we're here. Hell, he can't ever find out that I have your number. Well, your agent's number, anyway. I had to bribe his secretary. José would desinherit me before he dropped you. I bet he likes you a lot more than he likes me. And before you say anything about this being a cry for help - it isn't. José and I are not close and that's just that. It's always been like that. I don't care, he's not my real father. I'm not trying to get to him. I promise."

Fernando's eye roll is stopped mid-way by Sergio taking a step forward. "About the other part..." he starts again, fixing Fernando with such a deep gaze that it steals the breath from his lungs. "I know I said something that you didn't like the other day, but I had no idea what I was supposed to do. Maybe it wasn't the best approach, but - I knew you weren't one of Jose's partners, of course I knew. So you could only be... Well. You. I didn't mean to be offensive, I just thought that you'd want to get paid for your time, I don't know. Like I thought that booking a room at the Ritz was the only way to get you here and it kind of worked, but I don't mean that in a bad way. I just really wanted to get you here. I have no idea how this is supposed to go, you see? What am I supposed to do? Just tell me and I'll do it."

Fernando watches him studiously for a spell. "Here's what you ought to do. Call Xabi. You don't have to book the Ritz, anywhere will do. Even the back of your car, if you name the right price. Tell him you need a boy, tell him what you like, anything you have in mind. He'll book you someone. I guarantee you'll be satisfied."

"Someone who's not you."

"Exactly."

"Then I won't be satisfied."

"What's your problem?"

"My problem? What's _your_ problem? Why are you so keen on refusing me?"

"Why are you so keen on having me?! There are millions of boys out there you could have instead. Why me?"

"Because...!" Sergio stops, takes a deep breath. "Because you're not like the others. It's not about the sex and it's not about getting a prostitute. You're... different."

"Different?" Fernando asks, all cynicism. This is so cliché. 'Different'. Could he have an emptier excuse? Different could mean an infinite number of things or nothing at all.

"You seemed different. At the party," Sergio explains. "I saw a kindred spirit in you, I guess. You looked like you'd rather be anywhere but there just as much as me. I knew what you were, I can't help that, I know all José's partners and I know the kind of thing he does to get what he wants from them, so obviously I knew which role you were playing there, but that's not why I... Why I went for it. With you." He stops, scratches the back of his neck. "The only reason I even asked about the price was because I thought - I didn't know if you - Fuck, I don't know how those things go."

This man's making less and less sense by the minute. Fernando can't decide whether he thinks Sergio wants to be with a prostitute or if he liked Fernando because he thinks he's _different_ , as in, not like your ordinary prostitute. Whatever that means. Is that even supposed to be a compliment?

This is one very confused young man he's dealing with. It's not the first time Fernando’s stumbled upon one. Usually all it takes to get them sorted is a good blow job and voilà. Sex is the answer to almost everything in life, he's come to realize throughout the years. 

The whole problem with Sergio is that it's not about El Niño and a client. It's Fernando and some guy he's incomprehensibly attracted to. It was Fernando who turned him down at the party, it's Fernando who's refusing to have him now when it should’ve been El Niño all along. 

What he needs to do now is think with El Niño's head. He needs to turn the switch on, forget all the bitterness and disappointment Sergio caused him the other night and consider what would a high class prostitute do in a situation like this. The answer is simple: since he's already here, El Niño would just fuck him, give him something to remember and then move on to the next client like nothing happened.

Maybe that's really all Sergio needs, to get Fernando out of his system and that will be it. He's got this obsession with him just because Fernando turned him down. It happens a lot with those spoilt wealthy kids who grew up getting ponies and mini-cars for birthdays and are incapable of dealing with rejection. 

Fernando's pride still says he shouldn't, but El Niño says he should. And El Niño is hardly ever wrong. 

"Fine," Fernando finally announces, blowing out a heavy gust of air.

Sergio frowns lightly. "Fine?"

"Yes." He takes off his jacket and throws it over a chair, then proceedes to remove his shoes and socks. It's the unsexiest undressing he's ever done and it's definitely very anti-climatic. He doubts this will be one of his most memorable performances. Probably not one he'll want to keep on the résumé, but it's what he's got at the moment. "You want to do it? Fine. Let's do it."

"Do it?"

"Yeah. It's why you called, isn't it? I'm a whore."

"Wait, you got everything wrong. That's not what I -"

"You don't have to give me explanations. It doesn't matter. I'm a professional."

Without further delays, Fernando launches forward and crushes his mouth roughly against Sergio's. It's not a pretty or sexy kiss at all; too much tongue, too much teeth, two heads turning to the same side at the same time and not exactly sure what to do. But they're hungry as their tongues battle much more avidly than the first time they shared a kiss, at Mourinho's penthouse. 

Fernando keeps telling himself that this is all about satisfying one stalker's need to see if he can get him off his back, but, as they tumble towards the bed, bodies pressed one against the other, hands roaming all over and desperate to get any clothing out of the way, he realizes he wants this a lot more than he'd imagined. 

He pushes Sergio against the bed and, standing between his knees, takes off his shirt and jeans. The fire behind the other man's dark eyes sends a tingly sensation up Fernando's spine that gets every little hair on his body standing to attention. He straddles Sergio's lap and holds his head to take his lips into another plundering kiss. The other man's hands slide down Fernando's back until he is grabbing his arse, fingers digging into his flesh through the thin layer of the briefs he's still wearing.

In a swift movement that startles Fernando, Sergio rolls over to have Fernando lying on his back while he rests on top. The wolfish smile on his face is nothing if not enticing. Fernando can't help but steal another kiss, but it doesn't last long. Soon enough Sergio has moved his mouth to Fernando's chin and then the curve of his neck, down, to his chest, biting his nipples and circling each with the tip of his tongue before continuing to leave a wet trail down his torso.

"Look at those legs," Sergios mumbles as he bites the inside of Fernando's thighs. "So thick... and firm... I could do this... all... day," he continues, in between kisses.

"I won't object," Fernando grins. "But that will cost you double."

Sergio chukles as he removes the last piece still covering Fernando's body. He takes a second too long admiring the view of the naked prostitute in front of him before going down on him. It's not like this hasn't happened before, but for some reason it feels different to be under Sergio's scrutiny than any other client. If he didn't know himself better he'd say he’s getting shy in front of him. 

Fernando props himself up on his elbows and, with lips parted and supressed moans, watches as Sergio sucks him off. He kisses the tip of his cock, presses his tongue against the slit before licking it from base to top. A light scratch of teeth on the head makes Fernando throw his head back and grunt. 

He's accustomed to giving more than receiving in this business, although some clients do take pleasure in watching him writhe and come hard as well. There's a lot of acting on Fernando's part involved, though. Not that pretending is always a necessity, of course. There are clients and then there are _clients_. Some know exactly what they're doing.

Other situations, however, demand a bit of dramatization from him. He always needs to make it seem as though it's the best fuck he's ever had even when it's miles off; his orgasms always have to be the most intense, awful blow jobs always have to be incredible, his moaning always needs to sound as though his brain is melting from so much pleasure. Never underestimate the need for viagra in this profession. It can be a male prostitute's best friend.

Right now, though, Fernando's not faking anything, and he's not acting either. This is not escort sex. Sergio's not kissing and touching and blowing a whore, and Fernando's not replying like someone who's trying to impress. It's natural and fluid and honest. 

When Sergio pulls away, his lips glossy and full, he shrugs off the robe and reveals something that is, to put it simply, remarkable. He is gorgeous. Strong and muscled and tanned and just - _fuck_. The guy is the definition of hot, like a Greek God who's just returned from a holiday season. And he's also rock hard. It's a mouth-watering sight.

He sits down on the bed and launches forward to have a taste of his cock. He can't resist such a beautiful sight. Sergio threads his fingers through Fernando's hair and groans. Fernando sucks him like he'll never see another dick in his life.

"Do you have condoms?" he asks, voice already husky.

"Hmm-hmmm," Fernando replies, bobbing his head up and down.

"Where?"

"Jeans."

Sergio stops him and pulls his chin up to kiss him once more, but moves away to retrieve a condom from Fernando's discarded jeans. He puts it on and gets back on the bed, pushing Fernando gently back to position himself on top of him once more.

"I want to look at you," he says. "I can't stop looking at you."

He fucks Fernando with his legs spread open and holding the headboard for support. They move in synchronized rhythm, Fernando pushing down against him with each thrust. It's slow and thorough, as they both try to make it last forever. Sergio leans over to kiss him half-way through it, moaning against his mouth, then digging his nose into the curve os Fernando's neck. 

"Come for me," he says. 

Fernando strokes himself rapidly and comes all over his own torso with a guttural sound. Sergio buries himself deeper inside him and finishes a second later. He continues to fuck Fernando, slowly, for a while longer until he collapses on top of the other man and they lie like that, listless and in a mess of limbs and come and heat, trying to catch their breath.

It's a while before Sergio raises his head for another kiss. Fernando means to stop him, as he's been meaning to stop Sergio from doing just about everything else since he arrived, but, as with all the rest, doesn't. There's a side of him finding some measure of comfort in Sergio's kisses and caresses, in the way he looks at him. It immediately quiets down the riot going on inside, the internal conflict between what he wants to do and what he should do. 

Sergio rolls off of him to lie on his back. Their loaded silence is broken seconds later by laughter. It starts out as just a chuckle until it erupts into merry-eyed joy. Fernando turns to look at the man next to him with a deep crease between his eyebrows.

"Why are you laughing?" he asks.

"I just realized something," Sergio says in-between short bursts of laughter. "I don't even know your name." He turns his head to the side to meet Fernando's gaze. "How ridiculous is that?"

 _It's not_ , Fernando wants to say. None of his clients know his name, bar one. To all of them, he's El Niño. Fernando’s never even in the picture. But for some inexplicable reason, it does feel ridiculous that they never even introduced themselves accordingly. Perhaps because it's not El Niño that Sergio wants, it wasn't El Niño that he fucked tonight. It's been Fernando all along.

"Fernando," he says, immediately kicking himself inwardly for giving in so easily.

"Fernando," Sergio repeats, relishing the syllables on his tongue as though it's the most meaningful word he's ever spoken. "That's a good name. It suits you."

"Yeah," Fernando agrees, looking away from him. "I suppose." 

He takes a shower while Sergio orders them food, but he doesn't stay for dinner. He couldn't possibly bear to sit through the pain of eating with him. It would be torture. Fernando's been dying to run away from that room since almost as soon as he walked in. Sergio's presence repels him just as much as it attracts him. The agitation in the pit of his stomach is growing and Fernando just wants to leave, just wants to get the hell out of there as quickly as possible.

"Don't forget your money," Sergio says, flatly, nodding towards the fat brown envelope on the table.

Fernando stops for a moment. "Keep it."

"What?"

"I told you I don't want your money."

"But... I thought you said... I... what?" Sergio frowns, completely baffled. Fernando's not sure what he's doing either. There's a large chance he might regret this. But nothing that happened in this room was part of a job. If he takes the money, he'll be acting exactly as Sergio expected him to back at the party, he'll be doing the very thing that made him so furious and offended on that night. It's not about the cash. It never was.

"Don't call Xabi asking for me, don't try to find me anymore. We will never see each other again. You can spend that money on some other boy."

As soon as he's out the door, Fernando starts running. He doesn't even wait for the lift, just flies down the stairs in reccord time to get the hell out of that place. He meets Kyrgi by the door, who asks if he's ok, if Fernando needs him to go upstairs and 'deal with the issue'. He knows Kyrgi really means kick the hell out of Sergio. There's no need for that. Yet, anyway. He just needs to get the hell out of there. 

If he never hears Sergio Ramos' name ever again it will be too soon.


	3. Frank

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more, big thank you to the lovely [crazychelseablue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/crazychelseablue/profile), who have kindly offered to beta-read this story and is the reason why you won't find the same awful mistakes as before.
> 
> Finally moving on to the core of the story: El Niño and his clients. Hope you guys like it.

Frank has a routine.

They've been seeing each other for two years, give or take. And it's always the same protocol. Frank waits for him at room 408 of this little Mayfair hotel, offers him a glass of wine and waits while Fernando bathes and changes into a robe. 

What Fernando likes the most about Frank is that he's a true gentleman on the outside, but has all this hidden depth that he probably only ever shows when he's with him. He doesn't know the story - Fernando doesn't talk to his clients unless they want him to, it's part of the job to be discreet - but he can guess. Frank seems to be the married-with-family type. Outside this hotel, he's the epitome of the family man, company boss, loving father - the kind that doesn't _fuck_ his wife, only _makes love_ to her. Boring as hell. In here, though, he transforms into this hungry, passionate and kinky lover.

He always starts by tying Fernando's hands to the bed. He uses his hands and mouth to map out Fernando's entire body - he likes to leave marks. Fernando bruises easily, Frank loves that about him. He teases Fernando's cock until he's rock hard and begging, and then he fucks him. Never with his dick, though.

He's used all sorts of things to fuck Fernando's ass over the years. Sometimes it's just his - surprisingly long - fingers; other times he brings... things. Fernando's been fucked by all manner of dildos you can imagine. There was this one time when he brought a particularly large cucumber - "I saw it at the market today and thought it would look so pretty in your ass." Fernando wasn't very impressed, but he didn't say no. He likes Frank, so. Let him be weird if he wants to. He's paying after all. It wasn't exactly _nice_ , but it wasn't all that unpleasant either. Not that he'd want to repeat the dose, but. It's all about experiences.

Today he has a metallic vibrator – the kind that is mostly used by women. It's a little too thin for Fernando's taste, so he's ready to pretend to be enjoying it like a mad cow - the way Frank loves - when he slides it up his hole. It's colder than the usual, so it makes him shudder, and it's also a little uncomfortable because it doesn't bend at all - not especially good, definitely not as great as a real dick. And the thing is - Frank's got such a lovely cock. Fernando's become sort of an expert in that department, and boy, he'd like to have that man fuck him... It's not monstrous, but it's thick and gorgeously framed by all those veins. Fernando'd definitely, _definitely_ prefer to have Frank inside him than this little vibrator of his. But, well, he's not here to have an opinion. 

When Frank turns the damn thing on, though, Fernando sees stars. It goes straight to that spot, one thrust after the other, and he can barely contain himself. He arches his back and pushes his ass down against Frank's hand. "Oh, God..." he screams. "Yes, God! Frank, yes! Like that... Uhm..."

He's not even thinking anymore. Frank's staring at him with those beautiful, hungry eyes of his, his mouth parted as he pushes the vibrator in, swirls it around, faster and faster each time, reveling as Fernando edges closer to his climax. When he comes, it's hard and long and feels like all his limbs have turned into water at once. He screams Frank's name and lies boneless in bed while the other man unties him.

He's not allowed to rest just yet. Once he comes, it's Frank's turn. He gets on his knees and takes Frank's cock into his mouth eagerly. God, he loves this part... Fernando's not in this just for the money, although the money plays a huge part. But if you don't genuinely like having sex, then you surely won't last for too long in this business. Nobody is going to be able to pay a small fortune for a whore who's not really into it. You can fake it, yes; Fernando's done his fair share of faking interest. Not all his clients are skilled lovers, not all of them attract him sexually. But you have to love the sex. You have to love the feeling of a cock thrusting into you, of having a dick in your mouth, of driving someone so over the edge that they can barely remember their own names. You have to _want_ to be the absolute best fuck anyone's ever had. Otherwise, there's just no point. 

Fernando - he sometimes thinks he was born for this. It's a little embarrassing to admit it, but he doubts he would ever be as successful in any other career. He's always keen on creating the perfect experience, on being the best fuck anyone can ever afford to have. It's simple logic: nobody has to pay to have a shag. There are millions of people out there who would be more than willing to do it for free. If someone comes to him, then he's going to make sure it will be worth it. He doesn't just want to be some exclusive escort - he wants to be _the most_ exclusive escort there is. To have dozens of people trying desperately to get to him so that he can hand-pick his clients and make them all feel very special for being amongst the handful who get to have their way with El Niño. He proves to them that he's worthy of all the extra zeroes they write down on their checks. It's why they keep coming back.

And, well, if Fernando wasn't so much into cocks, it just wouldn't be the same thing.

Frank likes to come on his face - not in his mouth, but all over his face. The sight of Fernando licking the sides of his mouth with his face all smeared in white drives that man mad. They kiss then and Fernando goes back to bed, absolutely exhausted. 

He's almost falling asleep when Frank returns, all cleaned up and impeccably dressed. He looks just as nice in a suit as he does out of it, Fernando thinks. Such an absolutely handsome man. If only all his clients were as nice to look at as Frank...

"You were brilliant today," he says, that sweet smile of his gracing his features. "Thank you." 

Frank, the gentleman. 

Fernando chuckles drowsily. "No, no... Thank _you_."

"I'll call Xabi when I have another day off," he says, leaving a check on the bedside table. 

"Sure." Fernando rolls around on his stomach and stretches his legs and arms. Frank watches him with that burning fire behind his green eyes again. Fernando smirks; he does it on purpose.

"God, you look..." the Englishman says. "I could do you all over again."

Fernando shrugs. "I'm game if you are."

Frank seems to consider it for a moment before shaking his head and reaching for his jacket. "Have to go. You can stay, if you want. I paid for the night. Breakfast is included."

"Thank you."

He leans over and brushes his lips lightly against Fernando's. "See you, Niño."

Fernando's almost falling asleep when his cell phone sparks to life. It's a message from Xabi. "Since you're already out there, there's a special request for you tonight..."

x-x-x

 

Fernando is furious.

So furious it takes ounce of his self-control not to punch Sergio when he greets him by the door of the Ritz suite with the biggest fucking smile plastered on his face. Like he isn't a douchebag and wasting Fernando’s precious time.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he blasts.

"Always a pleasure to see you, Fernando. Such a ray of sunshine!" 

Fernando pushes him out of the way and enters the suite - the same one from the other night. He's not impressed anymore. Far from it.

"What did I tell you about not looking for me again?"

"Your point?"

"Stop playing dumb. I told you not to call again. I don't want to see you anymore."

Sergio cocks him an eyebrow, the corner of his lips curving up into a tiny grin. "You're here, aren't you?"

"I'm here because I came to tell you in person to _leave me the fuck alone_. Just in case you didn’t understand the message the first time. I don't care how many times you call Xabi, or how much you offer to force him to write your name down on that list."

"I had to do that, it was the only way to convince him to make the appointment even though you gave him express orders not to take anything from me anymore."

"Can't you take a fucking hint?!" Fernando is nearly shouting now, his blood boiling in his veins. This guy - this rich, spoilt _brat_ , thinks he owns the fucking world. "I gave him those orders because I _don't want to see you_ ," he speaks slowly for emphasis. "Aren't you satisfied that you got what you wanted already?"

"Who said I got what I wanted?"

"What else could you possibly want?"

"You," Sergio says, simply. "I want to see you. And I want to see you again. And then some more."

Fernando stares at him like he's completely crazy. "Are you out of your fucking mind?"

"Why? Because I missed you and played dirty just to get you here? I don't get it - why are you so upset?"

"Because I -"

"Don't want to see me again, blah blah blah." Sergio rolls his eyes; Fernando balls his fists tightly and puts a lot of effort into not letting them fly towards the other man's face. "You still stayed the first time and you came back now. Doesn't that say something?"

"It says you're fucking annoying!"

"Probably," he agrees, nodding his head. "But also - _maybe_ \- that you want this just as much as I do."

Fernando lets out an indignant bark of laughter. "Oh my God. You are so self-absorbed you can't see a fucking inch in front of your nose. How many times am I gonna have to repeat that I don't _need_ or _want_ your money for the message to finally register in that brain of yours?"

"Who says I'm going to give you money?" Sergio shrugs.

Fernando blinks strangely at him. "... what?"

"I'm not giving you any money. I didn't give you money the first time."

"I didn't take your money, that's completely different."

"I agree. But it’s also completely beside the point. There was no money involved. And this time I won't even offer. Because this isn't a job. What I told Xabi was a lie."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Sergio smiles again, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "This is a date, Fernando."

Fernando's jaw drops and lands somewhere between his feet. He blinks, wide-eyed, at the other man, who stares at him completely triumphant. Fernando doesn't know whether to be outraged or impressed or what. The nerve of this fella is unbelievable.

"... what?" is all he manages to produce.

"A date," he repeats. "Our date. Second date, to be more specific."

"We didn't have a date."

"Of course we did. What did you think that was? Surely not a _job_. We talked, we made out, we had sex, nobody paid for any of it - I call that a date."

"I didn't charge you because I thought that would convince you to leave me alone."

Sergio rolls his eyes at him again and sighs. "I'm sure you know how to lie better than this."

"What the hell is your problem?!"

"Nothing. I haven't got any problems. If I have to make a complaint, however, it’s that you're trying too hard to pretend that we're not doing what we're doing even though you know exactly what's going on here, between us. And I don't understand why. You knew I went after you because I wanted to see _you_ , not because I was after a random fuck. I could have that for free and for half the trouble I had to go through just to get a contact number that wasn't even yours. I had to speak to a _pimp_ for you."

"Xabi isn't a - a _pimp_ ".

"Of course not," Sergio says, smiling. "But the point is that you didn't charge, not because you were trying to be nice or because you thought that it was going to keep me away. You didn't charge me because you _wanted_ me as well."

"And you know me so well, don't you? Go on, tell me more. Am I in love with you already by any chance?"

Sergio chuckles - the goddamn bastard is enjoying this. "I don't know anything about you. I know lots about your alter ego, about El Niño. But that's not who I want to know. I want to find out everything there is to know about you. I want to learn every inch of your body, the location of every single freckle on your skin..." Sergio's voice becomes hoarse as he speaks, drenched in desire. Fernando swallows hard; it's simply impossible to look away or move back. He feels every hair on his body bristling as Sergio approaches him with slow steps, stopping at arm’s length. "Do you see what I mean?"

There are a million things going through Fernando's mind right now, so fast it's hard to grasp at anything. What he does know is that the burning rage he had when he arrived has considerably dimmed, giving way to sheer perplexity. None of what he's saying makes any sense and Fernando has an antsy sensation that he's being played here, dragged into a joke or a bet or _something_ \- he doesn't know what, but Sergio can't possibly mean everything he's saying. Right?

"This doesn't make any sense," he murmurs.

"Why not? You don't think you're interesting enough to attract someone's attention beyond sex?"

"I'm a prostitute," he says, matter-of-factly.

Sergio simply nods. "I’m aware."

"And you want to... _date_ me?"

"Yes." 

"And you don't mind that I do what I do?"

Sergio smiles softly. "Not at all."

" _How_?"

The other man shrugs. "Does it matter? I liked you, since that night we met at my father's party. I admit, it was a very unusual backdrop, but I don't care. José always tells me that I'm way too impulsive - that I tend to go with my instincts when I should learn how to follow my head. Maybe this is just me being impulsive again, but the truth is - you are more interesting than any other guy I've met in... I don't even know how long." Sergio takes another step forward and places a tentative hand on Fernando's cheek. The lack of objection makes it easy for him to believe that his presence is welcome and his touch, a comfort, so he raises a second hand, cupping Fernando's face and pulling his closer. "You attract me, Fernando," he says, really low, their faces inches away from meeting. "I want to learn what makes you tick, I want to press every button on your body - I want to know what you look like when you're in absolute ecstasy because I can't imagine anything that could be more beautiful than that. I don't know why either. I know it doesn't make sense - but I don't care. Because it simply doesn't matter."

Sergio doesn't wait for a response - he pulls Fernando closer and kisses him. The Spaniard is too stunned to react, standing stiff as Sergio's hands slide to his waist and hold him firmly in place. He doesn't exactly object when the other man's tongue penetrates his mouth, but doesn't reply either, and for a moment they stay like this - until Fernando places both hands on Sergio's chest to push him away but ends up, somehow, grabbing his shirt and bringing him even closer, shutting his eyes and sucking on his avid tongue.

The kiss becomes hungry and needy and soon enough they're both breathless. Sergio pinches Fernando's lower lip with his teeth, then kisses the corner of his mouth, his chin, his neck... Fernando sighs.

"What the hell are you doing, Sergio?" he asks. Sergio smiles against his skin. "We shouldn't do this."

Sergio pulls away just enough to face him again. There's something different about him this time - he looks... serious. Dead serious.

"Look me in the eye," he starts, "and tell me that again. Tell me that you don't want to do this and I swear to God I'll step away and let you go. I won't bother you again."

Fernando opens his mouth, very determined to do exactly that, but finds himself being betrayed by his own voice instead. Nothing comes out, words melting somewhere on the way from his brain to his tongue. Sergio waits calmly for a response and, when none comes and Fernando's eyes flicker away from his in defeat, he holds his chin up and forces him to meet his gaze once more, grinning. It's not wolfish or suggestive like the other smiles; this one's kinder, more intimate, a smile Fernando can guess Sergio reserves for only a handful of people. For some reason he feels as though he's the center of the universe in this second; it's something about how Sergio makes him feel, like he's _special_ or _important_ for more reasons than just being good in bed. 

Sergio looks at him like he's a _person_ , not a playground.

"I thought so," he says before kissing Fernando again, and this time he doesn't even try to block him and just gives in to the kiss at once.

They fuck on the bed, order dinner, fuck again in the shower and then lie down together, talking about nothing and everything, until they fall asleep. Fernando wakes up a few times during the night, startled by the unfamiliarity of a heart beating under his head as he rests against Sergio's chest, only to be immediately overtaken by an anxious fear that, come morning, this will all be over. He'll find out Sergio was drunk or high or worse, _joking_. That this was all part of a scheme to annoy his father. Fernando usually fears that his clients will leave without paying; now he's afraid that this one will decide to do just that. It's a conflicting thought and an even more baffling feeling.

He only presses himself tighter against the other man and allows the sound of Sergio's even breathing to lull him back into torpor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always welcome! Please let me know what you think!


	4. The Davids

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for the amazing [crazychelseablue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/crazychelseablue/profile), who has so kindly beta-ed this chapter as well. <3
> 
> I had ~~issues~~ with this particular chapter, so I'm really curious to see what you people think. Feedback is love! <3 Thanks so much to everyone who's been reading this story so far, you guys make me really happy. :)

"What is the deal with this Ramos person?" Xabi asks him one afternoon, when Fernando shows up to check on his weekly schedule.

The question catches him completely off-guard and makes his heart skip a couple of beats. Fernando hasn't really stopped to consider 'the deal with the Ramos person', to be frank. It makes his head hurt just to remember that there is something going on, whatever it is. 

He has definitely not stopped to think about whether Xabi would even approve of any of it. Until this very second, that is. Suddenly, he can't imagine anything more terrifying than Xabier Alonso finding out that his star escort is having an affair of sorts with the only son of José Mourinho. 

"Nothing," Fernando replies, perhaps a trifle too hurriedly for it to sound natural. "Why do you ask?"

"Let's see," Xabi says, leaning back against his chair and counting on his fingers all the reasons why he should be suspicious of 'the Ramos person'. Before he even starts Fernando knows he's going to be absolutely right about everything. "First you tell me never to book you with him again, but don’t tell me why. Then I schedule an encounter anyway because he was very persistent -"

"Or because you're a whore who can't resist a rich bastard," Fernando counters waspishly in a smart attempt to turn the situation around.

Xabi sighs wearily at him, but opts to ignore his words instead simply because, well, it's all very true and he knows it. This is what Xabi does when he's guilty of something: he acts as though he isn't. "Kyrgi reported that you said you wouldn't need him and told him to go. You didn't call me after you were done, as per usual procedure, and didn't pick up your phone until the morning after, which means I spent the entire night wondering whether you were dead."

"Clearly -"

"You broke the rules. I know you have a reckless streak coursing strongly through your veins, Fernando, but not even you break safety rules."

Fernando looks away and shrugs. "Sorry. I got carried away."

"Carried away," Xabi repeats, as though testing the words on his own tongue to see if they sound more credible. Not from where Fernando’s standing, they don’t. It makes him cringe. "Well, that probably explains why Ramos has already called me again trying to book you for the third time this week. You're very good at getting _carried away_ , from what I hear from the customers."

"I'm just that good, what can I say?" Fernando smiles derisively at him. "You should be glad. I take it that's why you're wearing that gorgeous Armani of yours today."

"Don't play dumb with me, Torres," Xabi says with that icy tone he uses for when he means business. "On top of all that, I haven't seen a penny from Ramos yet."

"I... forgot."

"You forgot?"

"Yes."

Xabi's mouth twist into a strained smile that ends with him pursing his lips pensively. Fernando knows those eyes; Xabi's studying him, trying to see past his mask. You can't climb as high as Xabi has in this business and not be good at reading people's true intentions or sensing storms before the first grey clouds have even appeared on the horizon. Xabi can tell exactly when something isn’t quite right and Fernando's probably rubbing him in all the wrong ways right now. 

To be completely honest, Fernando's not even sure why exactly he’s hiding the truth from Xabi. Yes, he will probably go mental if he hears about what happened, but would he murder his best prostitute? No. Would he inflict any kind of injury upon his best prostitute? Not likely. Would he forbid Fernando from ever seeing Sergio again? Definitely. Would that be such a terrible thing? Well... Objectively, no. It would put an end to a misery that hasn't even settled completely yet but that's been lurking around, just waiting for the perfect moment to make room inside Fernando and then refuse to leave. A depressed prostitute is the worst kind of prostitute there is and most definitely not one Fernando wants to become, so there. Let Xabi do his thing and end this nonsense with Sergio once and for all before it's too late.

On the other hand, however... He's not sure he _wants_ Xabi to end anything just yet. So this is a moment of great danger: if he drops the ball just now, it will all be over.

The question is: does he want to do that?

"What are you not telling me?" Xabi inquires.

"I told you not to book him again the first time. Maybe if you'd listened to me -"

"Fernando," he admonishes, curtly. "I don't have to tell you this situation is ringing all sorts of alarm bells and I don't like the sound of it. If there's anything funny going on, I need to know." He pauses. "Tell me if I have to take precautions."

By 'precautions', Xabi means do a complete background check on Sergio, have some guys follow him around for a couple of days, learn absolutely everything about his daily routine before threatening him and his family, just to keep him away. It's the kind of measure Xabi uses on clients that spark his suspicion or strike him as particularly dangerous for his boys and, consequently, to his business. In this particular case, Fernando's not too sure what exactly would happen, since Sergio's family happens to be Mourinho. Perhaps Xabi would simply pick up the phone and inform the man of his son's whereabouts and _that_ \- well, fuck. That would be so much worse than the alternative.

"There's no need for that, Xabi," Fernando starts, calmly. "He's not dangerous, he's just - obsessive. He thinks he's in love with me. It's why I told you not to book him anymore, but then you had to get all greedy, didn't you?"

"Maybe if you had explained that part to me in the beginning, I wouldn't have."

"I told you all you needed to know, which is that you shouldn't have taken his calls anymore."

"Since when is withholding that sort of information telling me _all_ I need to know?"

"I didn't want to expose him, that's all." 

"But then you gave me just enough room to think it was just you acting like a diva again and turning down a good client just because you think you're goddamn Marilyn Monroe." Fernando rolls his eyes at the agent. "If you'd told me it was because the man is a maniac, I would've listened."

"He's not a maniac. I didn't say anything because I..." Fernando stops, looks away, searching for the right words. "I pitied him. He doesn't seem like a bad person, just one who got things mixed up."

"But you said he's obsessive."

"He wants to have a relationship with me."

"And you don't think that's enough reason for me to worry? Honestly, Fernando. You didn't start doing this yesterday. How come you tell Kyrgiakos to leave you with a man like that?"

"Jesus, Xabi. He fell in love with a whore. It's inappropriate, but hardly a crime. He didn't do anything. I didn't think Kyrgi had to be there. It was fine. He's a pain in the ass, but not dangerous."

Xabi eyes him thoughtfully, perhaps trying to decide whether he believes in what Fernando's saying or not. After a moment of deliberation, he declares, "It's best if you don't see him again."

Fernando doesn't allow the pang that shoots right through him to show on his face. "I agree."

"Obsessive men might not seem dangerous at first, but they tend to get impatient when they don't have what they want."

"I told you to drop him the first time."

"Then I will. Next time he calls I'll tell him you won't see him anymore."

Fernando shrugs, faking as much nonchalance as he possibly can. "That's what I wanted from the beginning."

 

x-x-x

The Davids are celebrating their fifth anniversary by spicing things up a bit.

One of them - Villa, the older David - used to be friends with Cesc, back in Spain. Fernando doesn't know the details of it, he just knows that Cesc used to fuck Villa before he met Silva and that he's been to a couple of threesomes ever since. For their anniversary, though, they decided they wanted to be in a swing sort of thing. 

The only problem is that Silva is way too shy for them to go to a proper swing house and fuck complete strangers, so Villa called Cesc and asked what he could do about it and Cesc, being Cesc, offered to participate. Silva was ok with it because he'd fucked Cesc before. But they still needed a fourth person to make it a swing - so in walks El Niño.

In truth Fernando would've just turned them down if it wasn't for Cesc leaving voicemails on his phone for an entire week. " _Please, please, please, please, please, pleeeease, Nando! _Villa is really great and Silva is such a sweetheart! You'll love them! They're really important to me, so you have to come! _Pleeeeease_ ".__

__Really, with Fabregas it's just easier to say yes and let him get on with whatever he wants than to turn him down. He's got a fucking Duracell stuck up his ass, that one. Never stops._ _

__"You do realize that, technically, a _swing_ is a couple exchange, right? It should be practiced amongst actual couples," Fernando says as he watches Cesc making his bed with purple silk sheets that scream _slut_. They couldn't be more Cescy, Fernando thinks. "So, technically, it's not a real swing."_ _

__"You're being too literal, Niño. Being in a real couple exchange is not the priority here."_ _

__"Then what's the point?"_ _

__"The point is that they think it will be hot to watch each other fucking other people at the same time, but Silva is really shy, so he has to be comfortable with it. Making Silva comfortable is the priority."_ _

__"That doesn't make any sense."_ _

__"Jesus, Nando. Just fuck the guy, don't ask questions."_ _

__"I'm just trying to understand what I'm getting myself into."_ _

__"Paid sex. That's all you have to know. There," Cesc says, stepping back to take in his work on the bed. He's thrown six hundred pillows on top of it, all in either purple or red silk pillowcases. "How does it look?"_ _

__"Like a whore sleeps on that."_ _

__Cesc gives him a toothy grin. "Perfect!"_ _

__The Davids arrive at seven sharp. Being too on time always strikes Fernando as a sign of nervousness. They were probably standing outside already, debating whether it would be advisable to knock before seven. Nervous couples are not Fernando's favorite thing in the world. Things tend to move excruciatingly slow with nervous couples; they take time loosening up and adjusting to the whole set up. It's not rare for one of the parties to arrive still a little unsure about the concept. Not that Fernando doesn't appreciate being a couple's first real adventure in this beautiful world that is paid sex, but situations like that require him to act more like a therapist and less like a prostitute, which makes the experience of fucking two people a lot less interesting than it should be._ _

__The two of them are actually a cute couple, the type that you can see fit together really well from miles away. Villa looks more uninhibited and perhaps a tad rough while Silva is just sweet. So sweet in fact, that Fernando doesn't really know how he's supposed to hump that person. He's like a little teddy bear; Fernando wants to hug him and then put him on a shelf, not drag him into bed._ _

__They sit down for a bit of conversation and some drinks. Silva doesn't say a word, just smiles and nods while Villa does all the talking for them. Fernando feels an enormous sympathy for the man, as the two of them seem like two square pegs in a round hole. Villa is completely at ease, and Cesc - well, Cesc's personality could expand to fill a small planet. The fact that they're longtime friends probably doesn't help Fernando and Silva a lot either; the two are all laughter and banter and it's hard to keep up. It’s a relief when they actually get to discussing the terms of their deal._ _

__Villa tells them what he has in mind, says it was Silva's idea (Fernando finds that part hard to believe) and they all agree to it. Cesc gives them a few items to freshen up and they disappear into the bathroom while the two of them undress and get all set for the action._ _

__"I still have a feeling he doesn't want to be here," Fernando says while he gets out of his clothes._ _

__"Didn't you hear Villa say it was his idea?"_ _

__"It doesn't look like it was his idea. I don't think he's into this fucking strangers business."_ _

__"Niño, you don't know them like I do. Silva is a sweet boy, but he's a beast in bed. Just you wait."_ _

__They return in just their underwear, hand in hand. Villa is already half-hard, indicating that they probably played a bit in the bathroom between themselves to take the edge off._ _

__Cesc climbs out of the bed and stretches out a hand to Silva. "Come here," he says, softly. Silva and Villa exchange a warm glance. The man with the soul patch nods towards Cesc and Silva finally goes._ _

__Fernando watches with a sort of mesmerized interest as that tiny, shy man grins and whispers something to Cesc, wrapping his arms around the other man's waist with a certain level of intimacy that speaks of all the torrid nights they've spent together in the past. So maybe Cesc wasn't lying about how he transforms once he manages to work past the inhibition. Cesc holds his head gently and tilts his own to the side and they kiss, slow and languorously._ _

__"They look gorgeous together, don't they?"_ _

__Fernando is startled out of his observation by Villa, who he hadn't noticed coming to stand next to him._ _

__"They do," Fernando agrees, smiling._ _

__"Cesc is the only person other than myself with whom David ever comes out of the shell. I like watching them sometimes."_ _

__"I can see why. It's like watching a flower blooming."_ _

__David grins affectionately, his eyes on his partner. "I had never thought about it like that, but I guess you're right."_ _

__"Well," Fernando starts, touching David's legs tentatively. He seems more open than the other David, but who knows... "Would you like to keep watching them or should I help you out with that?" he gives a pointed look down, to the bulge inside Villa's underwear._ _

__With a different glow in his eyes, the man bends over and attacks Fernando's mouth with a plundering kiss. His technique is quite aggressive, but in a good way. Dominating and fierce. Very different from the tenderness going on on the other side of the room. Villa is all about attack. Fernando strokes his cock over the underwear and Villa breathes out harshly against his mouth, which he takes as permission to move forward._ _

__He pulls down his briefs and wraps his hand around Villa's length. With each stroke, their kiss becomes more and more voracious. Villa thrusts his hips forward into Fernando's hand, breathing harder and harder, attacking his mouth like a hungry animal. Fernando feels his palm getting wet with pre-come and he wants desperately to take the man in his mouth._ _

__Without waiting for permission, he drops down on his knees in front of David and swallows him whole. Villa pulls on as much of Fernando's short hair as he can and pushes himself deeper into his mouth. Fernando groans in pleasure, and the vibration of his throat makes Villa shudder._ _

__It's in moments like this that Fernando knows he's doing exactly what he should be. He was born for this. There are very few things as good as the sensation of having a man entirely wrapped around your finger by administering a perfect blow-job. Fernando loves the velvety feeling of a beautiful, hard cock in and out of his mouth, against his tongue. That bitter taste of come. The satisfaction of hearing those pleased, ill-contained sounds escaping someone's lips._ _

__If you think about it, driving someone completely out of their minds with only your mouth is pretty impressive. Fernando was born with that sort of talent and he's got just the necessary amount of hunger to make himself stand out from the crowd. Not even Cesc, who's a slut through and through, can match him in that regard._ _

__It's precisely because he loves this so much that his profile at the agency has an OWO next to his name. Oral Without. Without a condom, that is. That's the one thing he doesn't mind not having protection to do. There's obviously some risk involved, but he takes precautions. The spermicide and latex of the condom don't go well with his mouth and ruin half the fun, in his opinion._ _

__Call him a whore, see if he cares._ _

__Fernando hears the bed squeaking behind him and the soft sounds of moans and lips latching onto skin. Cesc and Silva have moved onto the bed. Villa becomes more restless, holding Fernando's head in place to fuck his mouth more intensely now. He's probably watching Silva, spread out on the bed and showing off to his partner while getting pleased by Cesc._ _

__Then it all changes. One second Fernando's pretty sure the man's about to come in his mouth, the next Villa's pulling away and leaving him gaping and confused. David walks around the bed, eyes fixed on Silva, who spots him and lets go of Cesc to kiss his partner. They lie down together in each other's arms, and soon enough Cesc is left aside as well. He turns to Fernando with a quizzical look. Fernando just shrugs._ _

__Once it becomes pretty certain that the Davids are not going to be including the two of them in their business again, Cesc and Fernando step away to assess the situation._ _

__"What should we do?" Cesc asks while they watch, from a certain distance, as the couple fuck on his bed._ _

__"I don't know," Fernando replies. "Nothing, I guess."_ _

__"That’s your idea?"_ _

__"Well, clearly they don't need us." As if to prove a point, Silva lets out an _'Oh God, David, yes!'_ right at that moment. Fernando arches his eyebrows at Cesc as though saying 'See?'. Cesc rolls his eyes._ _

__"We can't just stand here and do nothing."_ _

__"They're the clients. If what they want is to fuck each other, we should just let them."_ _

__"But that's not what they said they wanted. They wanted _us_ to fuck them."_ _

__"They're allowed to change their minds." Villa rolls Silva around to take him from behind now, still in no way acknowledging their presence in the room. It's like they're not even there. That's a new one for Fernando. "We were just foreplay, I guess. Just to set the mood and get them going."_ _

__Cesc groans indignantly. "I fucking _hate_ that."_ _

__Fernando frowns at his friend. "Why do you care so much?"_ _

__" _Because_. Don't you find it frustrating to just stand in the background while _that_ is going on over there? My room is reeking of sex."_ _

__"Your room is always reeking of sex, Cesc. Even your name reeks of Cesc. Sex." Fernando frowns. "That's confusing."_ _

__"See this?" Fabregas points towards his own hard member. "Who's going to take care of that now?"_ _

__"Get your shit together, will you, Fabregas? You're a professional. They are paying _you_ , not the other way around."_ _

__"You do it, then."_ _

__"What?"_ _

__"This is supposed to be a swing party, right? We need to have at least two couples. Let's fuck."_ _

__"We're not a couple."_ _

__"Who cares? They're paying us for a swing. I know you're hard too."_ _

__"Barely." He can't be expected to keep an erection once the mood is so drastically affected. He was literally ditched by his client. Fernando's far from being as offended as Cesc is, but he can't deny it is a huge turn off._ _

__"I can get you up again and then we'll fuck."_ _

__"That's nonsense, Cesc."_ _

__"What's nonsensical about it?"_ _

__"Why would I fuck you? You're not paying me."_ _

__"I'm not. They are."_ _

__"They haven't asked _us_ to do anything. They don't even know we're here. We could just leave and they wouldn't even notice."_ _

__"Come on, Niño. Just a quick one..." Cesc says, bouncing in front of him like a little child who wants candy. It's a very disturbing image. "Just to take the edge off! It'll be fun! We can just lie on the other end of the bed and fuck while -"_ _

__"I'm not going to fuck you, Cesc."_ _

__"Why not?!"_ _

__"Because you're not my client, for fuck's sake." Fernando snarls from behind greeted teeth to keep his voice down and not disturb the two rabbits going at it in bed._ _

__"You're such an asshole, you know that? You think you're so hot, so much better than me. You prefer to stand there and watch two people having sex than actually do something."_ _

__"Why did I ever say yes to you? Jesus Christ..." Fernando shuts his eyes for a second and blows the air from his mouth wearily. "Fine. Let's do something about that."_ _

__A giant smile immediately spreads over Cesc's face from side to side. "That's why I love you, Niño!"_ _

__"Don't love me just yet. I'm not going to fuck you."_ _

__Fabregas visibly deflates, his big doe eyes sparkling as though he's about to cry. "But you just said -"_ _

__"I know what I said. I'll help you out. I can give you a hand. That's my best offer."_ _

__"A hand?! But I don't need a _hand_. If all I wanted was a hand I could just use my own."_ _

__"Well, then. I guess that means you don't need me."_ _

__"Nando!"_ _

__"Shhh!" Fernando puts a hand in front of Cesc's face to shut him up. "Do not fucking use my name, you idiot."_ _

__Fabregas pushes him away none too gently. "What's the matter with using your name? They know my name."_ _

__"And that's your problem."_ _

__Fabregas narrows his eyes at him and mouths out, inaudibly, "Fernando Torres"._ _

__"Oh my God! You are such a fucking dick! I won't ever work with you again!"_ _

__"That's what you say every time."_ _

__"Fine! I'll give you blow job, but that's it!"_ _

__Cesc rolls his eyes at him as though still not satisfied, but can't quite contain the little smile twisting up the corner of his lips._ _

__Fabregas pulls a chair next to the bed so that he can watch the Davids from up close while getting his dick sucked, the fucker. Fernando should keep those things in mind when he says yes to anything else Cesc proposes._ _

__He kneels in front of him and just gets on with business. It's the end of the world having to do something like this for another rent boy. The only reason why he even agreed to it is because there is some truth in what Cesc said. The couple paid them for a swing, they wanted to have more people fucking around them. If they decide the two of them did nothing they could just start complaining and creating trouble afterwards and frankly Fernando's not in the mood. He didn't even want to be here in the first place. If he at least gets Fabregas to come they can say that they did their own thing as well and that will be it. He'll get the hell out of here with his money and not look at Cesc's face again until it becomes absolutely necessary._ _

__It's all very mechanic: head bobbing between Cesc's legs, lips tight around his cock, lots of suction. There's no little twist, no trying-to-make-it-remarkable, no showing off for anyone. This is just a favor to a friend. If he's completely honest with himself, there would really be no problem with having sex with Fabregas. They've done it before in other jobs per clients' request. Cesc's good. And maybe then the Davids would even want to join them and they'd turn it into an orgy with all of them participating. It could be fun. If he were in the right mood, that is. His arousal is completely gone and not even all of Fabregas' theatricals to try and catch the Davids' attention are getting anything out of him. Fernando doesn't feel like fucking those guys. Any of them._ _

__He’ll be damned if he lets Cesc come in his mouth. Instead, he uses his hand to finish him off._ _

__"Satisfied?"_ _

__Cesc pulls him up into a kiss and then smiles. "Thank you." He sneaks a hand under Fernando to pat his crotch. "You're not hard," he points out._ _

__"I can feel that, you don't have to tell me."_ _

__"Don't you need me to return the favor?"_ _

__"I'm fine, Cesc. Just... Stay there and enjoy the show. I'm gonna get cleaned up."_ _

__The Davids fuck for another hour. It feels like four to Fernando. Almost tantric sex. He's almost falling asleep when the two finally pull away and decide to call it a night._ _

__They are so absolutely content and radiant that they even leave an extra tip beyond the agreed price, which leads Fabregas to give him an 'I told you so' glare that Fernando promptly ignores because Fabregas is just fucking annoying and he's going to snap any minute now._ _

__He is picking up his clothes and getting ready to leave when Cesc approaches him with a peace offering in the form of champagne._ _

__"What's this for?" Fernando asks._ _

__"Just a toast to a job well done."_ _

__Fernando shakes his head at the irony but accepts the drink. "I guess some days are just easier than others."_ _

__"Don't know about you, but I don't fancy easy days at all. I'd much rather be fucked mad into that mattress, but you can't always get what you want."_ _

__"I'll pretend that wasn't aimed at me."_ _

__"Who is he?" Cesc asks, almost venomously, tiny smart-ass grin dancing across his lips._ _

__"What?"_ _

__"The guy."_ _

__"What guy?"_ _

__"The one you're seeing."_ _

__Fernando stops, a little shocked, but makes a face like Cesc is insane - which he is - and continues to get dressed. "I don't know what you're talking about."_ _

__"Come on, Nando. I've known you for ages. A month ago you would've jumped at any chance to have good sex, but you turned me down today."_ _

__"Cesc, you don't pay me shit. I only ever do what clients ask me to do and they never said they wanted to see the two of us having sex. You should be glad I blew you."_ _

__Fernando picks up the rest of his things and leaves before Cesc has any chance to further his inquiries. Before he boards the lift, though, he hears his friend yelling from the doorway, "I still think there's someone!"_ _

__

__x-x-x_ _

__

__Completely lost just about sums up the look on Sergio's face when Fernando shows up on his doorstep later that night without any sort of notice._ _

__"I believe you weren't expecting me," he says. There's a moment of apprehension during which Fernando wonders if perhaps this surprise visit was too soon. It's hard to tell if Sergio's happy to see him or just horrified at the sight of a hooker on his doorstep._ _

__"That's... correct," Sergio replies. "I was vehemently told on the phone that I would never see you again. It sounded very convincing."_ _

__"That's because it was true." Sergio cocks him an eyebrow. "Xabi thinks it's true, anyway. Do you mind if we don't talk about this here?" Fernando motions towards the corridor and Sergio steps aside to let him in._ _

__The apartment is ridiculously nice, but not nearly as big as the penthouse Mourinho uses for his get-togethers, which Fernando guesses is probably much smaller than the place José really lives in. With Sergio's mother. It becomes weirder by the second to think about José and Sergio being family. Fucking someone's dad is awkward in any circumstance, doesn't matter if it's a friend's or and ex's or a casual fuck's. But being someone's dad's whore and then moving on to the son is just - well, Fernando's having a bit of a hard time adjusting to the idea._ _

__"So... Not that I'm not happy to see you, but I'm a little bit confused," Sergio says. "Your agent said that I had been dropped and if I didn't accept it he'd have to take, and I quote, 'drastic measures'."_ _

__"Xabi is so dramatic."_ _

__"Should I be worried that you're here?"_ _

__"Only if you're thinking about telling him."_ _

__Sergio eyes him for a second before his lips twist into a wicked grin. "Wait a second... Is this a secret? Are we having a secret affair?"_ _

__"I'm not sure yet."_ _

__"Like Romeo and Juliet."_ _

__"Yeah, no. Don't stretch it."_ _

__Sergio laughs and then approaches Fernando in slow steps. "Why did you have to lie to him?"_ _

__"Because he was getting suspicious. You can't call him a million times a week asking for me. That makes you sound like a maniac."_ _

__"Oh," Sergio frowns. "I hadn't thought about that. I guess you're right."_ _

__"Nobody hires the same expensive prostitute three times a week unless they're screwed up. Usually said prostitute ends up dead after the third date."_ _

__"I had no idea that's how the third date was supposed to go." Sergio stops in front of him, so close Fernando has to make a small effort to keep his hands to himself. It's slightly undignifying to admit that. "So what's your weapon of choice?"_ _

__"I didn't say this was a date."_ _

__"What is it then?"_ _

__Fernando pauses. "I don't know."_ _

__"All right. Let's start over then, shall we?" Sergio holds Fernando by his shoulders and spins him around once, pressing a soft kiss to his lips afterwards. "Hi," he says, smiling. "I have no idea how you found out where I live, which is a little creepy, but I'm really glad to see you." Another kiss. "Is this a date yet?"_ _

__Fernando laughs and pushes him away gently. "You have your sources, I have mine."_ _

__Sergio goes cold, his body rigid as his eyes widen in fear. "Wait... When you say _sources_ , you don't mean - God, please tell me you didn't call José."_ _

__"Are you crazy?" Fernando dismisses Sergio with a wave of his wrist. "What kind of idiot do you take me for? Of course not. I have _other_ sources. You're actually not at all hard to track down."_ _

__"Thank God," he says, breathing out relieved. The momentary horror is replaced by his typical toothy grin. “I guess I'm glad I'm easily traceable, then."_ _

__Fernando turns away from his - from _Sergio_ , whatever he is, and moves to the window. There's nothing really to see there - the view is not as spectacular as the one from Sergio's old room, at the penthouse, where they met. It's just an upper class street with fancy cars parked on each side. Fernando just doesn't really want to look at Sergio as he says what he has to, so any distraction is welcome._ _

__"I've been thinking and... Maybe we shouldn't see each other anymore."_ _

__There's a brief moment of silence. "Why?"_ _

__"I don't think this is a good idea."_ _

__"I thought we were past this part. Are you honestly going to make me go over everything again?"_ _

__"No," Fernando says, still not looking at Sergio. "I had a bad conversation with Xabi about this today."_ _

__"I thought you said he doesn't know."_ _

__"Because I told him to drop you. But he won't like it if he finds out."_ _

__"So? I don't care."_ _

__"It's not that simple."_ _

__"Why not? Do you owe anything to that guy?"_ _

__"No, but -"_ _

__"Then screw him. We don't need his approval for anything."_ _

__"But we do." Fernando finally turns around to face Sergio, who's staring at him with his eyebrows knit together. "I do. Xabi's my agent."_ _

__"What's that supposed to mean?"_ _

__"Everything. He's the one who runs my whole career."_ _

__"Career?" The derisiveness in Sergio's tone makes Fernando cringe._ _

__"Yes, my _career_. I'm a fucking prostitute and you know that."_ _

__Sergio looks down. "I know, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to -"_ _

__"Yes, you did. You think being an escort is not a real job. I perform a service and then I get paid, it's a fucking job whether you take it seriously or not."_ _

__"I'm sorry, ok?" Sergio raises his palms out in the air in surrender. "That was a stupid thing for me to say. I don't think it's not a real job, I just - I think maybe you shouldn't care so much about what that man has to say. That's all."_ _

__"Really? Who should I care about, then? You? The person I met, like, yesterday? Who hires a prostitute and calls it a date? I don't even know why I listened to you. Actually, I don't even know what the fuck I'm doing here."_ _

__Sergio opens his mouth to reply only to snap it back shut, with nothing to say. They lapse into a brand of silence that feels incredibly unfamiliar to Fernando. It's heavy with implications he can't quite figure out. Somehow it all feels very wrong. The argument, being here, Sergio... Xabi was right after all. This could get dangerous. They really shouldn’t see each other again._ _

__"What do you see when you look at me?" Sergio inquires._ _

__"What do you mean?"_ _

__Sergio takes a step closer to him, arms crossed over his chest. "First thing that comes to mind when you look at me. I know we don't know each other that well, it doesn't have to be anything specific. Just right now. What are you thinking?"_ _

__Fernando ponders over the question for a spell, then answers, "Spoilt."_ _

__Sergio nods. "Ok. That's fair. Anything else?"_ _

__"Annoying."_ _

__He smiles. "Not gonna argue. More?"_ _

__"I think you're someone who got bored off your ass having everything and now you're trying to have fun taking up something you're not supposed to have. Then, when you're done, you're just gonna throw me out like an old toy."_ _

__Sergio's eyes flicker away from Fernando for a moment, to the window behind him, then back again. "There's some truth in that. But not entirely. Especially the part where you made me sound like a cruel little version of José."_ _

__"What's your point?"_ _

__"My point is that I think we have more in common than it seems.”_ _

__Fernando barks out a mirthless laugh. "Now _that_ definitely doesn't make any sense. We have nothing in common."_ _

__Sergio takes a deep breath before he starts talking again._ _

__"You're right when you say I'm spoilt and annoying and that I'm used to having everything I want. That part is all true. It's been like that ever since I can remember. My mother - she fell in love with José. He's a very charming man, as I'm sure you know. I don't really remember anything, but I know he started spending a lot of time at our house when dad died and I know he used to bring me a lot of gifts. They were married less than a year later and José became CEO of our company. Since then all my mother has eyes for is him, who in turn, only has eyes for multiplying our money and, occasionally, for pretty prostitutes." Fernando shifts uncomfortably, looking down at his feet. "It has nothing to do with you, though."_ _

__"I know," Fernando says._ _

__"In between the new husband and money, I got a bit lost. There wasn't much room for the little kid. I was practically raised by the nannies. When I was old enough to realize I wasn't getting enough attention, I started demanding it in the form of presents. I would always ask for the most ridiculous and outrageous thing I could think of just to see how far my mother and José were willing to go in order to continue to ignore me. The answer is that I haven't found a limit to that yet. I always get everything I want. Even today._ _

__"I took my friends to Ibiza, to Dubai, to Miami, completely unsupervised, before I was 15. I hired private jets to fly us to and from concerts on the other side of the world, I got VIP tickets to Real Madrid matches for everyone I know, I had dealers fueling parties at our house... She never cared. And it was obviously very profitable to be friends with me, so I quickly became the coolest kid in town. There were lines of people sucking up to me just to be invited to hang out. Back in school, all I ever had to do was snap my fingers and there would literally be someone there to do whatever I asked. I came back to my room in college to find naked strangers in my bed more than once. So yes, I'm spoilt and I can have everything I want. This is exactly why I have a very hard time trusting people. How can you tell friends from foes like this? How do you know when someone is honestly being nice to you or when they expect something in return? Everyone wants something from me. Everyone except for you. You - God damnit, you keep trying to run away!"_ _

__Sergio punctuates his sentence with a dismal laugh, shaking his head at Fernando like he thinks this is all ridiculous. Fernando has to agree with him on that one._ _

__"You look at me and you see someone who's playing a game with you, who just wants to have a laugh at your expense. All I'm saying is that I know that feeling." Sergio sighs. "I didn't even want to be at that stupid party José was having for his associates the other night. I hate the way he does business, which is why I refuse to take my place at the company and he gets pissed at me every time. But for some reason I thought, you know what? This is the company my father started. I should accept it, it's my inheritance. It shouldn't be in the hands of my mother's second husband, right? I'll just go to that party, I'll meet all the business partners and I'll do whatever the hell I have to. I disagree with José's methods, but he has made us far richer than we were twenty years ago and the company is thriving more than ever, so there's gotta be something good about what he's doing._ _

__“But the minute I set foot in that place there were ten boys and girls throwing themselves at me, saying all sorts of things to do with me and I -- I just ran away. I couldn't do it. That was not my thing and those were not my people. Then you walked in and I... I saw something in you. I don't know what. All I know is I was immediately drawn to it. It was a breath of fresh air just saying five words to you that night. And then you left. You turned around and you left." The tug on Sergio's lips becomes softer as he smiles at Fernando with sheer affection in his eyes. "Nobody had ever turned their back on me before. I immediately liked you."_ _

__Fernando's brow creases in confusion. "You liked me because I turned my back on you?"_ _

__"Exactly."_ _

__"That doesn't make any sense."_ _

__"You know it does. Because you feel the same way. We probably come from completely different backgrounds, but in the end we're the same, Fernando. Don't you see? You don't trust so easily either, but you keep coming back, even though you tell yourself that you're not doing it anymore. When you started kissing me that night, it wasn't as El Niño. It was _you_. That's why you got upset, right? It took me a while to figure that out, but now I see it. I was never a job to you, just like you were never just another fuck to me."_ _

__Fernando feels his cheeks burning and he has to avert his gaze from Sergio right then because - fuck. Fernando arms himself to his teeth with arguments and evidences as to why they're being completely idiotic to take this any further, only for Sergio to come and render him completely defenseless._ _

__Fernando Torres, completely speechless. That’s definitely a new one._ _

__Sergio is _right_. He's right and he's causing Fernando's heart to beat incredibly fast and his breath to catch, his palms to sweat. It's so confusing._ _

__"Hey." Perhaps sensing the panic raising in Fernando, Sergio closes the distance between the two of them and puts both hands on his shoulders, giving him a gentle squeeze. "All I'm asking is that you give us a chance. I know it's hard. Frankly I don't know what to expect. But I'm going with my gut feeling here. I like you, Fernando. So why not try? Just try. Don't listen to what that Xabi man says. I know there's a little voice inside of you telling you the same thing, or you wouldn't be here right now. I promise you I'm not a maniac and I won't try to kill you if you decide not to see me anymore."_ _

__Fernando huffs out a little laugh. Sergio smiles back at him. Fernando shakes his head and sighs, shoulders dropping as he finally lets his guard down. "I'm pretty sure I'm going to regret this. And so will you," he says._ _

__"That's not something you should be thinking about right now. Don't try to anticipate the future. Let's enjoy the present, yeah?"_ _

__Fernando bites his lip and takes a deep breath. He can see a list of all the reasons why this is going to end badly, all the ways in which they might be reduced to tears. Still, he slowly nods his head and says, "Yeah."_ _

__Sergio pulls him closer and places a kiss on his lips again. Fernando offers no resistance whatsoever. He has to admit that it feels good to let go._ _

__He can't quite contain the turmoil still going on inside. Fernando's too used to disasters not to see the hints all around them. But it feels good in Sergios's arms right now, just as it did the other night. That doesn't guarantee anything, but it has to suffice for now. They have a million reasons to be apart and just one to be together. Right now, that one is topping all the others. They find comfort in each other's company. It's enough. For the time being, anyway._ _

__"So," Sergio continues, stealing another kiss from Fernando's willing lips. "Can we call this a third date yet?"_ _


	5. Monsieur Drogba

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you very much to crazychelseablue for beta-reading the chapter. :) 
> 
> Feedback is much appreciated! \o/ I really like to read your thoughts! <3

Monsieur Drogba is a warlord from Africa. Or so Fernando heard.

Fernando's not sure from which country. Doesn't even want to know, to be honest. The less you know about those kinds of people, the better. Never learn anything that can be used against you. It’s one of the first rules in the book of How To Be An A+ Whore And Stay Alive.

He's a new client and one Fernando did not want to take, for obvious reasons, but Xabi literally begged him, which is so unlike Xabi that Fernando was perhaps too shocked to say no. Drogba heard about Fernando from one of his business associates - probably Mourinho, Xabi said; he red in the Times about a protest happening in front of the Mourinho industries office due to the skew businesses between his company and Drogba's country. Apparently Mourinho finances something he shouldn’t or some political shit like that. Xabi explained it, because Xabi _loves_ him a bit of politics, but Fernando couldn't care less. The point is that Mourinho sold Fernando to Drogba as the best ever male escort he could find and now Drogba wants to have a try.

He then showed up in person at the night club where Xabi's office is, accompanied by three very large, very intimidating men, demanding to see El Niño.

Fernando can't really blame Xabi for saying _yes, of course, just a minute, Monsieur Drogba, he'll be all yours_. He would've done the same.

That doesn't change the fact he's shitting himself terrified. Xabi said he did some investigations to find out how safe it would be for Fernando and learned that Drogba has a reputation for being kinder to his whores than he is to his wives (all five of them), but still. That's not sufficiently encouraging when the man arrives at the hotel with four guys the size of bears carrying very large guns.

Jesus Christ.

Fernando takes a look at the door and wonders if he can still bolt. But that would probably get Xabi in a lot of trouble. Fuck, that ginger asshole owes him so badly.

His heart stops when he hears voices down the corridor. That's it, he thinks. He's gonna have to be the best fucking prostitute this world has ever seen tonight or he might end up taking a bullet between his eyes. He's seen movies, he's heard stories; those warlords are the incarnation of the devil. 

The door flies open and three men barge in, guns blazing. Fernando jumps back, ready to get down on his knees and beg for mercy, dignity be damned. But they walk right by him and start searching around the room, opening every door, making a mess of everything, shutting every window and curtain before walking out as though Fernando wasn't even standing there, holding his breath the entire time.

When they're done, Drogba walks in, very gracefully, all dressed in pristine white.

He smiles. "Sorry about that," he says, in a very thick French accent. "Precautions."

"Of course," Fernando agrees, trying his best to smile back but not certain he's succeeding; his heart has gone up to the back of his throat. "I understand."

"I'm Monsieur Drogba," he announces, approaching Fernando and taking his hand. He lifts it up to his lips and places a kiss on Fernando's knuckles. 

Charming. He's a very attractive man, Fernando realizes, and he doesn't look all that threatening from up-close. Too bad he can't really see past the heavily armed body guards and the blood of thousands of innocents.

"I know. I'm El Niño."

"Sí. El Niño," Drogba repeats, still in his French accent, which makes the nickname sound awkward but strangely nice. "I've heard lots of you. They say you are the best." 

"That's... very kind."

"Are you?"

"What?"

"The best."

Well, fuck. Damned if he does, damned if he doesn't, isn't he? If he says he is and the Monsieur decides he is wrong, dead. If he says he isn't, dead before he even starts.

"I prefer to let you draw your own conclusions," he answers instead, going for the best suggestive leer he can muster under this kind of pressure.

Drogba laughs. "Oui, oui." He sits down on the bed. "Bring me champagne."

Fernando downs two glasses while he pours one for Drogba. When he turns back to the other man, he's already lost the shoes, the socks, the belt and the fedora hat, and his shirt is half unbuttoned. When Fernando hands him the glass, Drogba grabs a hold of his wrist, fiercely, but not with enough strength to hurt. Fernando's heart stops anyway. Drogba’s making him feel like a beginner again.

"You scared?" he asks, taking a sip of his drink. "Your face is too white."

Fernando's not sure whether that's supposed to be a criticism, but he thinks maybe Drogba's referring to the fact that he’s been pale as a ghost ever since his arrival. "Yes," he admits, swallowing down hard. "I'm a little scared. I've never been with... a man as powerful as you."

Drogba's smile stretches wide across his face and Fernando knows he's said the right thing. He might not know a whole lot about warlords, but stroking the ego hardly ever fails with self-centered men. "It's good to scare," he says. "Scaring makes people behave well, no?"

"If you want me to behave well, I will," Fernando says, and then he leans over and whispers against Drogba's ear with renewed confidence. "But I can be very bad too."

Drogba grabs him by his waist, throws him down onto the bed and straddles his body with a dexterity Fernando's never seen before. The man's so strong he can bounce him around and handle him like a doll, and Fernando's not the petit type. Drogba puts his wrists together and holds both his arms above his head with one hand as he ravages Fernando’s mouth. Once the initial shock is over, the Spaniard is able to respond with equal fierceness, pushing one thigh up against Drogba's crotch. The bulge there feels incredibly huge and he doesn't seem to be completely hard yet. 

He starts kissing Fernando's neck, mumbling things in French while Fernando replies with universally known pleased sounds because that's the best he can do. He's still a little tense, but a lot more relaxed now. He can do this part brain dead if he has to and finally wandering into familiar territory is an enormous relief.

Drogba pulls away after a while and stands up. "Naked," he says as he turns around and moves towards the champagne. Fernando understands that as an order to take off his clothes, so he does it. When Drogba returns, drinking straight from the bottle, he's already undressed, biting on his lower lip as he strokes himself leisurely.

The Monsieur's eyes sparkle. The bulge in his trousers is _enormous_. Fernando's not sure what to think. Well gifted clients usually excite him, but when it comes to warlords… He’s not too sure yet.

"Beautiful," Drogba says. He spreads Fernando's legs apart and takes his cock in his firm, big hands, giving Fernando three masterful strokes that make him pant. This man knows what he's doing.

He slides his palms all over Fernando's body - his balls, his thighs, his hips, his torso - and then takes the champagne back. With a mischievous smile, Drogba showers Fernando's body with the drink. He finishes by turning the champagne in Fernando's mouth, wetting his whole face.

When he's satisfied, Drogba starts licking the wet trails - sucking on his chest, his stomach, his cock, then his legs, before moving back up to kiss Fernando's mouth once more.

"You do it," he announces, letting go of Fernando to stand up once more. Drogba removes his shirt and then takes down his trousers. Fernando's jaw drops when he finally has a glimpse of the Monsieur’s now fully erect member.

"Oh my..." he says. Drogba laughs as though that's not the first time he's had that sort of reaction.

"Come closer. It won't bite,” he says.

It's the biggest, thickest cock Fernando's ever seen in his life - and he's seen quite a few. His wicked side is exploding in excitement to have that monstrous thing in his hands and to put his mouth there; the other, more reasonable side wants to run away scared, because there is just _no way_ that thing is going to fit in his ass. Drogba's going to rip him to shreds.

Fernando wants to _kill_ Xabi.

"Come," the Monsieur repeats. Fernando's not going to make him say it again.

He sits down on the edge of the bed, between Drogba's legs, and swallows down hard in a mix of lust and fear when he's faced with the _thing_. It's so big he needs both his hands to have a proper hold of it. His fingers won't close around Drogba's dick.

"Like that," the Monsieur says, rubbing his cock on Fernando's face and sliding it against his parted lips as Fernando sticks out his tongue to touch it. "You want that," Drogba continues. "Say you want that."

"I want it," Fernando says, his voice more than a little shaky around the edges, his own cock pulsing for attention.

"Where do you want that?"

"My mouth." Fernando catches the tip of Drogba's cock with his mouth and sucks on it before the man pulls it away to rub his spit-slicked member against Fernando's cheek.

"You want to suck it?"

"Yes. Yes, I do. Please, let me suck it."

"You like big, black cock?"

"I love it."

Drogba finally allows Fernando to take him in his mouth. It barely fits. He can only swallow a small portion of it without gagging, but he uses his tongue as best as he can to compensate while stroking him at the same time with both his hands around the base. Drogba holds Fernando's head still and starts fucking his mouth, putting it further and further back with each thrust of his hips. Fernando can barely breathe, saliva is running down the sides of his mouth and his face is all flushed. It's not pretty at all, but his cock is wet with pre-come and he wants nothing more than for Drogba to fuck the hell out of him. 

"Look at me," the African says, his voice hoarse, and Fernando does.

He pulls away a moment later, when Fernando's jaw is already sore, and tells him to get on all fours.

"Do you have a condom?" he asks. "I don't think mine are your size."

"No condom," Drogba says.

Now that is - very potentially problematic. Fernando will be damned if he's going to let a warlord from God knows where, who's probably shagged his way across the entire continent, fuck him bareback. But how the hell do you refuse to have a sex with a man like that?

"I only do it with a condom," he explains. "It's in my contract."

"Monsieur no do condom."

"Well. Then I'm afraid we can't fuck."

Drogba stares at him very sternly and Fernando thinks that this is it. _This is the moment he tells his men to come in here and I get raped by all of them before they put a bullet through my mouth._ He's going to die for a principle. How stupid is that?

When Drogba stomps angrily to the door, Fernando's heart starts beating so fast he's not sure he's still going to be alive by the time he returns. _Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God..._ How fast will he go if he throws himself out the window? He's on the sixth floor, in the middle of Chelsea. A bunch of old ladies and their pets are going to witness his naked body turn into a milkshake as he hits the pavement outside and be forever traumatized.

Drogba opens the door, no shame whatsoever about his _state_ , barks something in French and then returns with a little silver package in his hand.

"Condom," he says, throwing it at Fernando. "Extra-large."

Fernando starts laughing nervously, breathing out in relief. Drogba stares at him like he's crazy, but doesn't say anything. He takes the condom and says, "Thank you," before moving to roll it onto the other man's cock. Even the extra-large doesn't seem to fit him entirely.

Fernando then makes a show of slicking himself up with lube, sticking two fingers up his own ass. Even while he moans and bites his lip while touching himself, his subconscious is screaming. _It's never gonna fit, it's never gonna fit, it's never gonna fit_. 

Drogba pushes him down on all fours and sticks his much longer, much thicker fingers in Fernando's hole instead. He squirms and arches his back, groaning loudly. But the Monsieur doesn't take too long with preparations; soon enough Fernando feels the head of his gigantic cock pressing up against his behind as Drogba pulls his butt cheeks apart.

The Spaniard braces himself for the pain and bites on the pillow underneath him, balling his hands into fists and scrunching his eyes shut like he’s preparing for an imminent car crash. As he predicted, Drogba is not gentle at all, but it's not as violent as it could be either. At least Fernando thinks he's not ripping anything apart inside. Drogba pushes himself further into him inch by inch, making little circular moves to better accommodate himself inside. It hurts like a motherfucker. All the sex in the world still hasn’t prepared him for someone this disproportionately big. Fernando screams, half in pain, half in pleasure, as Drogba hits not only his prostate but probably all of his internal organs as well.

The thrusts get hungrier and hungrier, Drogba making a loud noise like a bull, as though he's breathing only through his nose. Fernando is screaming, but he's also relaxing; it still hurts, but the pain slowly turns into something bearable, more enjoyable. His body is getting used to the other man's size. 

Drogba is not the kind of guy who needs to be skilled in bed; he doesn't have to know how to put it and where to put it and how to hit the right spot. All he needs to do is stick that thing up as far as he can and he will be, invariably, hitting something right, as well as several other things wrong, but that's beside the point. Fernando's never felt anything like this in his life. Each time Drogba pushes forward, Fernando's vision blurs and he sees stars. He might actually pass out at some point. 

He's not really doing a thing here, afraid to even try to move his hips and have a set back on the little progress they’ve managed. Drogba keeps a firm grip on his sides and manipulates him as he pleases. 

Fernando feels Drogba's entire body going rigid behind him as he comes with a loud scream. Thank God for that condom. That man must put out enough cum to fill a small bottle every time he ejaculates. He continues to fuck Fernando, slowly, for a while, before sliding out to lie on his back. Fernando falls boneless in bed, completely exhausted and sore all over.

"You come?" Drogba asks between heavy gusts of air.

"Not yet," Fernando answers, tiredly.

The Monsieur pulls him towards him on the bed and makes Fernando sit on top of him, straddling his torso. Fernando makes a little grimace at the pain in his behind.

"Come," he commands.

Fernando ignores the ache and starts rocking on top of Drogba, feeling the other man's still half-hard dick grazing his ass as he strokes himself. The gleam in the other man's eyes is predatory. It's hard to tell whether he wants to fuck him again or eat him alive, but Fernando can feel the heat emanating from those piercing dark eyes and it's pushing him rapidly towards his orgasm. The adrenalin has gotten the best of him and Fernando doesn't even give a shit if he won't be able to walk tomorrow; he could have Drogba fuck him all over again right now.

He comes with a loud groan, smearing his liquid all over that beautifully dark skinned chest. "Clean," Drogba breathes out, voice hoarse and somber. Fernando licks his own hands first and then leans over to wipe the cum off of Drogba's chest. "Good boy," he says, pulling Fernando up to kiss him once more.

They lie together for a while recovering their breath and enjoying that beautiful sense of completion in the afterglow before Drogba announces he has to go. He leaves Fernando in bed while he takes a shower and gets dressed. Fernando's payment is very generous indeed - a lot more than they agreed plus a Rolex. Xabi would kill a bitch for that watch.

Right before he leaves, Drogba turns to Fernando and, with a smile on his face says, "You are the best, El Niño."

Fernando grins lazily, very pleased with himself. It wasn't exactly perfect, but hey. He just got declared the best fuck there is by a man who’s probably shagged luxury escorts from here to the end of the world. He'll most likely need to take a week off to recover after this, but it's quite entertaining getting fucked by such a monstrous cock – and coming out of it with the title of Best Fuck Ever is not so bad either. He's going to remember this for a long time.

Either way, he still hopes to God that Monsieur Drogba doesn't start spreading the word across his country. One warlord with condom issues is more than enough. Xabi owes him 'till the end of his life for just this once.

x-x-x

By the time he gets home, his body has cooled down enough that every single muscle is screaming in pain. He can't yawn without getting a painful reminder that he had a dick the size of the world fuck his mouth; can't take a step without his ass burning. It hurts so fucking much, like it used to back in the beginning, when he wasn't yet accustomed to the rougher clients. The thought of having been reversed back into a virgin by a monster cock is ironic, to say the least.

Fernando wants nothing more than to just take a long shower, have a warm glass of milk with cookies and lie down to watch a movie on his very soft bed until he falls asleep. A few painkillers would be nice too.

When he opens the door, though, all those nice, wishful thoughts are wiped away by the sight of Sergio sitting on his couch.

Fernando stops dead on his tracks. Is it possible that he's seeing things? Did Drogba hit a nerve or something? Is the pain so strong that he is now having hallucinations? How the hell is Sergio sitting in his living room? They've been together here a couple of times, but he doesn't remember ever giving the man keys to his place.

"Don't be mad." Sergio stands up with a sheepish smile on his face. "I found the extra key, under the rug. I wasn't sure - well, I tried calling you, but you weren't answering your phone and it started raining so I - I was really going to wait outside, but then I found the key and I thought - well, maybe he won't be mad if I just wait inside." He's blabbering, gesticulating nervously as he speaks. "I promise I didn't touch anything."

Fernando watches him quietly for another second before shutting the door and removing his shoes. At least Sergio has the decency to look embarrassed. "You can't do that," he finally speaks, curtly, trying to decide whether he's furious, mildly angry or just so tired he's not even annoyed albeit being entirely aware that he should be. "Just because you've been here it doesn't mean you can steal my key and make yourself comfortable."

"I don't know what I was thinking." Sergio is a terrible liar.

"Yes, you do," Fernando retorts, walking around, ignoring Sergio's presence. "You were nosy and you wanted to know if I was in here with someone."

"What? No! I didn't think you were in here. I wasn't snooping in, I was just waiting. If I thought you were here I wouldn't have entered."

"You wouldn't have found the key if you weren't looking for it."

"It was under the rug."

"Your point?"

"It's the most obvious place on earth. Anyone could've found that. A burglar could've found that key. In fact, you should consider moving it elsewhere."

"To your key holder, perhaps?" Fernando stops pacing around and stands firmly in front of him, fixing Sergio with a very stern gaze. His voice is harsh but completely devoid of ire. He's just too tired to be having this sort of argument, to be defining limits for someone he's not even exactly sure how to fit into his life. This is exactly why Fernando doesn't do boyfriends. He doesn't have the spirit or the patience for this sort of bullshit. 

Sergio looks at him like a puppy who's chewed a shoe and has the decency to look guilty, but somehow still thinks he's being misunderstood. "No, that's not what I'm saying," he starts. "I'm sorry. I should've asked you first if it was ok for me to wait inside. I didn't want you to feel like I was intruding."

"You take the liberty of coming into my flat without my authorization but you didn't want me to feel like you were intruding," Fernando says, not as a question. "Am I the only one who thinks that sounds completely incongruous?"

"I screwed up," he says, scratching the back of his head. "I'm sorry. But, God, I'm not - I wasn't trying to mean anything by it. I'm not asking for a key. I know we're not like that yet."

The word _yet_ makes Fernando’s insides squirm, but he doesn't let it betray his impassiveness. He's not sure he wants that word to be there at all. Not now, not ever. He can think of a few things to say to that, but fuck if he's going to be doing that right now.

"Good," Fernando says as if to draw a line under the conversation. "We're not at giving each other keys."

"Are you ok?"

"Other than you barging into my apartment, yes."

"You look tired."

Fernando flicks his eyes away. This is always the hardest part, tip-toeing around the elephant in the room. He can't just say 'Oh yes, honey. I had such an exhausting day at work. There was this guy with this huge cock and he fucked me so rough I can barely walk now'. Being in a relationship is too much like trudging through a mine field. One miscalculated step and it could all just blow up.

"I am tired," he admits. "I just want to take a shower and go to bed."

Sergio nods. "Are you hungry?"

"I don't know. I'll just have some milk or something."

"Milk? When was the last time you ate?"

"I don't know, I don't keep track of that." Fernando stops, but looks at Sergio's still dejected eyes and decides to humor him a little. "Lunchtime, maybe."

"You need to have something more than milk."

"I have cookies in a jar."

"What are you, eight?" The other man shakes his head reprovingly and Fernando frowns at how fast the situation has shifted. He was the one giving the lecture just a second ago but now he's getting told off by Sergio again, it seems. "I can make you something."

"Look, Sergio -"

"Really. It's no fuss. I'm good in the kitchen. You can go take a shower and change while I cook you something. I'll leave you in peace afterwards until you're not mad at me anymore. But I'll feel much better if I know you're ok before I do that."

Fernando opens his mouth to protest and say that no, he's not an eight-year-old, and no, Sergio's not his mom, and yes, he can take care of himself - but it's just too much trouble, isn't it? You have to fight to get out of a fight and lunge straight into another one. Maybe some other day he'd have the energy, but not today. He can't discuss relationship limits when his ass hurts from being fucked by an African warlord. There's just something about it that doesn't seem right.

"Fine," he says instead, around a defeated sigh. "Cook me something. But I'll tell you beforehand, there's hardly anything in that kitchen. You might as well just give up and accept that cookies and milk is the best that can come out of it."

Sergio smiles at him and leans forward as though he's about to give him a kiss, but gives up mid-way and moves towards the kitchen instead. "Just go have your shower and leave the kitchen to the master."

x-x-x

It's the longest shower of Fernando's life. Not only is the scalding water doing wonders for his sore muscles, it also - and perhaps more importantly - offers a great distraction from whatever is going on outside his bathroom. Let Fernando deal with ten warlords trying to have their way with him, but one Sergio Ramos getting all domestic in his kitchen? That's when it all gets too much.

Upon finally gathering up enough courage to leave the safety of the steam curtain perimeter, Fernando is greeted by the strong smell of food which is equal parts amazing and strange. He's pretty sure his flat has never smelled like anything edible in all the years he's lived here. Fernando's stomach grumbles in desperation like a dog sensing a bitch in season in the vicinity.

The scene in the kitchen is, to Fernando's eyes, like something out of a Dali painting: Sergio with his Dolce & Gabbana shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, wearing an apron Fernando has no idea where he found, flipping pancakes with the ease of a pro. He's humming a song as he moves around, sprinkling things here, pouring dough there and being generally more comfortable around Fernando's pots and pans than the owner himself has ever been.

The sheer domesticity of the whole thing sets off an alarm inside Fernando and he doesn't know whether to appreciate the whimsicality of the moment or to run away screaming. 

"Hey!" Busted. Sergio pulls him out of his reverie as he spots Fernando spying from the door. "I'm almost done. I hope you like pancakes, because it's the only thing I could put together with what you had, and just barely. Should I get worried?"

"Worried about what?"

"About what you might be eating. Because it's definitely not food."

Fernando shrugs. "I always have takeaway."

Sergio frowns at him as he catches another flying pancake with the frying pan. "How do you keep in shape?"

"I run. Sometimes I hit the gym." By _sometimes_ Fernando really means once a month, if ever. His body is his breadwinner, so he should probably take better care of his figure, but what he found out over the years is that sex is the best exercise anyone could ever get. Doing it as much as he does, and the way he does it, it's really more than enough to keep everything tight.

"Of course," Sergio replies, smiling, but not really managing to keep that little strain away from Fernando's eyes. "Why don't you go wait in bed? I'm almost done here."

"In bed?"

"Yeah, I'll take it to you there."

"You don't have to -"

"Fernando," Sergio admonishes. "Just go."

He figures it's useless to start an argument here about how he doesn't need a babysitter and so on and so forth and just complies. It feels strange, getting pampered like this. So strange it's uncomfortable. But not entirely in a bad way. Fernando just doesn't know how to feel about it, how to act - should he thank Sergio and that's it? Will it be too rude if he tells him to go after he finishes eating because he's tired and needs to sleep? Is he supposed to do something in return, like suck Sergio off? He's got no clue if there's etiquette for this sort of situation and it drives him crazy to be this lost about something so trivial. 

It would be so much easier if Sergio was just here after sex. That he knows how to handle. It's the rest that’s complicated.

"Ta-da!" Sergio cheers as he places a tray on Fernando's lap. There's a small stack of perfectly round pancakes with a half-melted piece of butter on top and a glass of orange juice Fernando vaguely remembers having bought some two thousand years ago. 

"Wow," he says as the smell fills his nostrils and makes his stomach twist in anticipation. "You really did all this with just what I had?"

"I'm a magician in the kitchen," Sergio answers, proudly.

"I can see that."

"Go on, try it. I've been told I could be rich off my pancakes alone. Of course you didn't offer me enough material to work all of my culinary magic, this is just a little taste of what I can do. One day I'll make you proper Ramos pancakes."

Fernando shudders at the promise of more domestic intimacy in the near future, but offers him a grin nonetheless. The pancake melts in his mouth like he's just taken a bite out of a cloud. It's seriously the best thing he's had in a very long time, so much so that it's impossible not to moan - loudly.

"Oh my God," he says around a mouthful. "This is... I don't even know what this is. Jesus Christ."

"Good?"

"Good?" Fernando shakes his head. "McDonald's is good. Cheddar is good. Sex is good. This is something else. It's... Heaven."

Sergio laughs richly. "Well, thank you very much. A chef always appreciates the compliments."

"How did you ever even learn how to make these?"

The other man shrugs. "I've been living by myself for a long time. I guess I just had to."

"I thought rich people had cooks."

"Nah... I'm not like that. I enjoy being on my own, you know? Not having maids and cooks and people doing everything for me. My flat is just big enough to attend to my needs and I can take care of it myself. That includes my kitchen."

Fernando watches him studiously for a spell. His clients are mostly quite rich (some a few steps above that, such as Sergio's stepfather), well up-holstered, often mildly dislikable, but often intriguing as well. Sergio, however... He's in a league of his own, doesn't fit into any of the neat categories Fernando's developed over the years to qualify the wealthy clients around him. The obscene amount of money Sergio's got in his bank account hasn't taken his feet completely off the ground, it seems. Hasn't been the most prominent or determinant factor in shaping who he is.

Fernando feels a ridiculous amount of affection for the other man right now. Sergio has charmed his way past Fernando's barriers and into his life, but so far he can't help but see this whole thing as some sort of experiment on both their parts. Fernando's not as naive as to allow Sergio to get too close for comfort, but he cannot deny that the challenge of figuring Sergio out attracts him more and more each day. He's not plain and easy like the others; Sergio's got layers, reasons that are not as straightforward as Fernando would assume. 

It's hard to admit it, but it's possible that he might be getting more fascinated by what's underneath than he is by Sergio's handsome exterior. It's possible - just possible, as in not-such-a-completely-absurd-hypothesis-as-it-was-a-while-ago - that Fernando genuinely likes Sergio. 

And that's a terrifying thought right there.

"Wow..." Fernando snaps out of his considerations and finds Sergio staring fixedly towards his dresser. He follows the other man's eyes to find the Rolex he got from Monsieur Drogba. "Is that a Rolex?" Sergio takes the object to inspect it. 

"I guess," Fernando answers, stuffing his mouth with more food.

"It's a beauty," he says. "Where did you get it?"

Fernando doesn't answer. This is one of those moments when he's reminded exactly why this whole situation is just crazy. What is he supposed to say? 'I got it because I let this guy with a gigantic dick fuck me and I was really good at it?' 

Sergio understands the silence, though, and just looks away, putting the watch back where he found it. "Right," he says, suddenly very uncomfortable. "He must really like you."

"He doesn't," Fernando replies, just because he can't think of anything else and it might seem like he's agreeing if he keeps quiet, which wouldn't be true and also, probably, make Sergio really upset. Not that a denial is doing much to fight the trouble, anyway, but it's something at least.

"Do you know how much one of those costs?"

"A lot, I imagine."

"Add a few more zeros to that."

"It's just a watch."

"Not just any watch. It's a collector's piece. José has one like that in his collection." The minute the words leave Sergio's mouth, he stops, eyes wide in a sudden fear. "Wait... It wasn't my father who...?" 

"Of course not," Fernando states vehemently. Sergio lets out a relieved breath. "Your father is not the type to give expensive watches to..." He cuts his speech short as he realizes how not cool it is to tell Sergio about his father's practices around escorts. It would be inappropriate to make a comment on it if he had never seen his father in his life, but speaking from experience just makes it a thousand times worse. "I'm not seeing José anymore," he adds instead, as a mean of fixing things.

"Really?" There's a pinch of happiness in Sergio's tone. 

"Really."

"I hope that doesn't put you in trouble."

Fernando shrugs. "I don't care."

Sergio smiles fondly at him. "Well, that's still fucked up, though," he continues after a moment. "Now I have to give you something."

"What do you mean?"

"This watch - it's a hell of a gift."

"It's not a gift, Sergio. It's payment."

"Still. Someone gave you something grandiose. Now I have to top it."

"Why?"

"Isn't it obvious? If someone gives you something this precious it means they like you very much. I have to remind you that no one likes you more than I do."

Fernando rolls his eyes at him. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Isn't it always like this? I have to make myself relevant. But how the fuck do I make myself more relevant than a stupid collector's Rolex?"

"With this," Fernando says, lifting the tray off his lap to show it to the exasperated man in front of him. "Do you have any idea how many expensive pieces of crap I've received over the years? I don't care about any of it. I look at that watch and I see a stack of money. But this?" He takes another bite of the pancake and moans as it melts just as majestically on his tongue as all the other bits before. "Nobody's ever cooked me anything. I haven't had a meal in bed since I was seven and sick. This is relevant. It matters. I'll sell that watch in a week or so and never think about it again, but these pancakes - I'll remember the taste of them for a _very_ long time."

The smile on Sergio's face is so wholehearted that it instantaneously fills Fernando's chest with warmth. It makes everything worth it.

He cannot name exactly what they're doing or even where this is going, but it's clear, at this stage of affairs, that Sergio is special. And he should know that. It's the least he can do for someone who's willing to overlook the fact he's getting himself involved with someone who has sex with strangers for a living, something that would be an unbreakable barrier to almost everyone in this world. It's still a mystery to Fernando why Sergio seems not to care - well, not care is a bit too much. He pretends well, but it's there, in the way he has to look away every time they get drawn into it or how he swallows hard when forced to mention it, however superficially. It bothers him just as much as the next person, but he's making an effort. The real catch here is finding out why a man as handsome, smart, and well born as Sergio would be willing to put up with that.

"I'll let you rest now," Sergio says, approaching Fernando on the bed for a kiss on the top of his head, still not very confident after their earlier argument. Fernando holds his wrist and pulls him closer, taking his mouth in a languid, deep kiss. 

"You can stay," Fernando breathes against his lips when they part. "If you want."

Sergio pulls away slightly, blinking at him. "Really?"

"Yeah. I'm not going to be very good company tonight, but -"

"Are you sure?" Sergio interrupts him with a hopeful note behind his question. 

"Yeah. I'd like that." And he's being completely honest.

Sergio takes his plate away, steps out of his clothes and lies with Fernando in bed. They talk about pancakes and watches until Fernando's eyelids are too heavy for him to keep his eyes open anymore. Fernando forgets the pain, the worries, the fears and allows himself to relax completely. He falls asleep with a full stomach, hot breath on his neck, soft arms around his waist, and a heartbeat against his back. 

It's the best night of sleep he's head in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to say I felt really bad writing Drogba as a warlord. But I had the idea and then I couldn't un-have it. :/ I needed someone for the part and I really wanted Drogba in the story, so... :( Don't hate me!!


	6. Daniel and Martin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you very much to [crazychelseablue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/crazychelseablue/profile) for offering to beta-read this chapter for me. :) I think my English is getting better (I hope so, anyway).
> 
> This chapter took me a lot longer than I expected. It's been mostly done for like, three months. It had about 3k words when I started editing and it ended up with 7k, so. You can see how I struggled. I kind of hate it, I don't know. But I guess it was the best I could manage at the time and I really didn't want to be stuck on it forever. I wanted to give those two clients a very good chapter because I fucking love them, but I'm not sure I made them justice.
> 
> Feedback, as always, is very much appreciated. Thoughts, opinions, constructive cristicism... Anything! I love hearing what you guys have to say and I'd love discussing whatever with anyone interested. By the way, thank you so much to everyone who's been reading this so far. :) You guys really motivate me to keep going!

"Do you always wear a condom?"

There is a stretched moment of silence during which the entire place seems to awkwardly quiet down around them while Sergio's question echoes in Fernando's head. And that - Is a very specific and random question, so seemingly misplaced that it takes a few seconds for Fernando to even register what Sergio actually meant by that. Fernando stays quiet for a moment longer, sort of waiting for an explanation or a follow-up along the lines of _'I read this article in a magazine'_ to give it some context or something, but Sergio gives him nothing but silence to fill.

He really doesn't know what to make of that, so he just arches his eyebrows questioningly at the man sitting across the table from him. "... what?" 

"What's your protocol for condoms?" Sergio explains. "With your clients, I mean." 

They're at this really nice restaurant, about to have a really nice lunch. It's a beautiful day outside and everyone's jolly because there’s sun and it’s London - everyone but Sergio, who looks pinched, somehow, even though he didn't a minute ago when they were seated. It might just be that Fernando's completely ignorant when it comes to dates - maybe that's the sort of conversation you're supposed to have when you're on a date, maybe this is why dates even exist, for that kind of awkward question to be asked - but still, he can't help but feel weird about it. It just sounds very inappropriate for Sergio to be bringing that up right now.

"Why are you asking me that?" 

"I was wondering."

"Now?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Sergio shrugs. "I don't know. It's a normal question, I guess."

Fernando studies him pensively for a beat. Sergio stares back at him with apprehension. He's clearly making an effort to look casual, his eyebrows doing that thing that says 'what? it's nothing', but his lips are tense and his eyes are giving him away. This is something Sergio's been mulling over for a while, Fernando can tell; he's trying to figure something out. 

"Are you serious?"

"It's just a question."

"Like, you want to do this right now? Seriously?"

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to." Sergio looks down and away and pretends to be interested in the menu again but his lips are semi-pursed, indicating he's going to be sulking his way through the rest of the day if he really doesn't get an answer. Fernando just sighs and resigns himself to the fact that these curiosity peaks are going to keep on happening, regardless of whatever, so he might as well just humor Sergio and get it over with.

Sometimes Sergio just thinks out loud, but for whatever reason this feels like a particularly big deal, though Fernando can't really put his finger on why. Sergio's sulky and nervous and he wouldn't be like that unless there was something much deeper to this apparently harmless question of his, and that is precisely what is making Fernando iffy. 

Is there a right answer to that question, according to the Book of Good Relationships? And if so, which one?

Objectively speaking, it _is_ a normal curiosity. Come to think of it, it's quite a wonder that it wasn't the first thing to come out of Sergio's mouth when they first hooked up. Or at least shortly after that. What sane person screwing a prostitute wouldn't have a question or two - or three hundred - about protection measures?

Subjectively, however, all this still gets Fernando's head spinning at times and he has to make an effort just to keep up. How is he supposed to share details of his job with someone who's likely going to be distressed and possibly (probably) judgmental about it? Sergio - he's that sort of person who wears his heart on his sleeve. When he's happy, he'll just smile at you until you can't help but share in his joy even if you have no idea why, he's just contagious or whatever, which can be really annoying at times because fuck if Fernando isn't the type who enjoys brooding as a hobby; when something bothers him, however, it's like it just sucks the life out of him and he simply can't hide it. All are welcome to Sergio's pain as they are to his joy. And right now Fernando can read it on the lines in his forehead like someone who reads an open book that there is some kind of unknown expectation about this on Sergio's part and he'll be stamping all over it if he ends the conversation here, so, really. It's all very fucked up.

"Yes," Fernando says in a defeated tone.

Sergio snaps his head back up at him. "Always? With all of them?"

"Yes."

"Top or bottom?"

" _All_ of them."

"Oh," Sergio says. "So you're, you know... Completely clean?"

"Are you asking me all this because you think I have a disease?"

"I don't _think_ you have a disease," Sergio explains. "I'm just wondering."

"If I have disease?"

Sergio rolls his eyes. "I don't think you're sick, Fernando. If I did, I would've asked you that a long time ago."

"Well, you don't have to be _wondering_. We have never done it without a condom either, so."

"But that's just it," Sergio says. "I was wondering if we could lose the condom."

Fernando eyes him very seriously then. That is... Well. It's something indeed. He can't really remember the last time he had sex with someone without a little piece of rubber between himself and the other person, whether for work or sheer fun. STDs are a prostitute's worst nightmare and although there's a world of things one can do to avoid those in today's world, there's no such thing as being too careful. Fernando's met countless men and women with terribly sad stories to share about the one and only time they ever accepted to _lose the condom_. Number one rule on the escort book is Do Not Trust Anyone. There are assholes out there who are going to act like the most holy and harmless things since Jesus just to pass on their diseases because they're fucked up like that. 

Not even that wonderfully insane guy who decides out of nowhere to date a prostitute and hasn't given up yet even after almost two months should be trusted. Not even him.

"That's not a good idea, Sergio."

"Why not?" 

"I'm clean," he hurries to add, just in case Sergio starts freaking out. "I get tested very frequently. But... I don't know. Condoms are not 100% safe."

"But we're together, right? It's not like with your other... partners."

 _Together_. That is one word that still seems to knock Fernando sideways. 

Being with Sergio is easy. A lot easier than Fernando anticipated. They get along well, they have a surprising amount of things in common for two people with completely different backgrounds and lifestyles, and - more importantly - Sergio is almost as horny as Fernando, which is a brilliant thing, really, because there are certainly more than a few people out there who would be shocked by how hard it is to keep up with him in that regard. 

Sergio's sweet in a way no one's ever really been and he's got this ability to make Fernando feel like he's the center of the universe. He's this impossible thing that scares and puzzles the fuck out of Fernando in the same proportion it amazes and entices him. So, yeah, being together is easy. 

It's being _together_ together that makes it complicated. Sometimes Fernando forgets that that's what they're supposed to be doing here. But then Sergio goes and reminds him of that fact and that's when he has to take a moment to stop and breathe and get his shit together because his first instinct is still to get up and run away, even though he's pretty sure he'd regret it terribly.

He takes a small breath and flickers his eyes away.

"That's not the problem."

"Then what is?"

"Well, what if I get infected with something? It might take a while before I find out. We wear condoms, but - I do _stuff_. Other stuff. It's never 100% guaranteed. Are you willing to take the risk?"

"Yes," Sergio says, without a thought.

Fernando is frankly a little taken aback by that. This sort of blind faith Sergio’s putting in him is flattering at the same time it is scary. It's too much pressure, being the keeper of that much trust - what if he screws up? What if he ruins everything? What if he lets Sergio down? He might do all that and more.

"No," he answers, after a beat, shaking his head for emphasis. " _I_ can't risk it. And you shouldn't either."

"Ah." Sergio visibly deflates. "I just thought that we... Well, never mind. Forget I asked. It's stupid anyway."

Fernando opens his mouth to apologize or say 'Look, it's not like that...' but nothing comes out. They fall back into silence and pretend to read their menus for a lot longer than strictly necessary. The rest of the date goes as awkwardly as the beginning and Fernando thinks that if this is how all their dates are bound to go, than it's unlikely that they'll have many others. 

At least the food is good.

 

x-x-x

Daniel and Martin are an item.

Daniel is a voyeur and Martin is a little devil with the most frighteningly attractive eyes Fernando's ever seen. They are up there with Fernando's absolute favorite clients. If he had a list of Best Customers Of All Time, Daniel & Martin would probably make it to the top three, right behind Stevie (because he'd kill Fernando if he wasn't the first on that list) and Lord Finnan (because, well, noble birth trumps cool couple). 

The things that make them such amazing clients include the fact they tip individually (despite buying his services as a couple), they both have very large portions of their skins covered in ink (Fernando has a serious thing for tattoos) and Martin's accent is hot as fuck. They also get bonus points for being very nice people in general, which is not something to be underrated in any way in the world of escorts.

Location is a big part of their thing, so Fernando never really knows what to expect when they ring Xabi. There's always this initial outrage when their plans are revealed ( _'Are you fucking serious you want to fuck on a skyscraper's fucking rooftop?'_ ) but that's probably also part of what makes them so interesting. There's never a dull moment in the company of Martin and Daniel. They take 'keeping the fire burning' to a whole new level. 

With them, Fernando's done it in a moving car, in a public bathroom, in a football stadium (yes, it was a match day; no, he's not going to say _where_ in the stadium), on the balcony of Daniel's flat (in broad daylight, mind you), in a firefighter's truck _with_ the cool lights on (that was a good one), at a tattoo parlor, and they even paid to take him to Denmark once - which was very nice, actually. 

This time it's a movie theatre. Fernando says something along the lines of 'Are you fucking out of your mind?' because, hey - he's a pretty open-minded guy and he's sure he's broken a few laws already for them, but there's a limit to everything. He's just really not in the mood to spend a night in jail and get another stamp on his police record for inappropriate conduct in public - come one, _children_ go to theaters. Maybe not at midnight, but that's beside the point.

Martin just laughs like Fernando's being cute or something and says, "It's just us. Promise."

Indeed, even though the streets outside are buzzing, there's not a single soul to be found inside, which sends the whole movie theatre set-up from batshit crazy to fucking impressive in one second. The place is gorgeous and huge and the acoustics are brilliant. Even Martin's breath seems to echo in there, so - yeah, he can see how this might work pretty well for what they have in mind. Hats off to them.

He's starting to warm up to the idea when the lights dim and a movie starts playing on the big screen, startling Fernando. It takes a second too long for him to remember Daniel. He looks towards the projection room, where there's only this tiny little window, and he can't really see anything apart from the projector light, but he knows that's where the Dane will be for tonight. 

Daniel - he doesn't like being seen during the act. He says it affects their performance if they keep looking at him. Not that it stops either of them from exaggerating on absolutely everything for his sole entertainment. He is, after all, the real mastermind behind all this. The voyeurism, the crazy scenarios, the away trips – they’re all his idea. Martin's obviously completely ok with playing along, but it's easy to see how he's only ever putting on a show for his partner's delight. 

It goes like this: Martin has Fernando in whichever way he pleases, for how long he wants, and, when they're done, Daniel comes out of the shadows and then it's the couple's turn to have sex while Fernando warms-up the bench. Which he's totally ok with, by the way; beautiful people having sex? Beautiful people with _tattoos all over_? He could watch that all day. If he may submit just one tiny complaint it is that he's never even so much as kissed Daniel. Not once. Not even on the cheek. He's only got eyes for Martin; when he comes out of his hiding place, it's like Fernando's not even there anymore.

If only they knew the amount of hours Fernando has spent daydreaming about tracing all those gorgeously Danish tattoos with the tip of his tongue...

But what does he know, right? He's just the whore.

Martin leads him to the front of the theater and nods towards the small stage-like thing up where the screen is. Fernando does a 'yes, your majesty' sort of gesture and gets up there. It's hard to figure out what movie is playing from this distance and with no sound, but it looks faintly familiar... It's black and white and really old and -

"Fuck me."

"I intend to," Martin retorts.

"Yes, but this?" He points a thumb towards the screen.

Martin smiles. "Don’t you like Casablanca?"

"No," Fernando answers like the mere assumption is offensive. "Xabi loves it, though. He always makes me watch that crap when he gets maudlin. It’s a pain in the ass."

"It wasn't really our choice. It was the only movie we could find to project. If it helps, I don't really expect you to be looking at the screen."

"That's a relief," Fernando says. "I thought we'd be watching some porn."

Martin laughs while he shrugs off his jacket. "Wouldn't that be too obvious?"

Fernando turns towards the theater's audience of empty seats and gets a shiver up his spine. The light from the screen creates phantasmagorical shadows, dancing all over the walls and between the rows and it makes him feel intimidated. Fernando's never really been one for audiences; he knows some of the more show-off boys - like Cesc - make a lot of money with the live sex shows Xabi hosts at the club sometimes. "You fuck one or two guys, but you get tipped by one hundred. The only way for it to get better is if the Ginger Bitch lets me fuck some of the guys watching as well," is what Cesc always says. 

Fernando can see the appeal and he knows for a fact that Cesc makes a fortune with those live shows. Xabi's tried to talk him into it once or twice ('Can you just imagine the line we'd have outside if they knew El Niño would be having a live sex show? You could make more money than a small country does in a month in two hours of sucking dicks up on that stage'), but his answer has always been no. 

Fernando enjoys being a whore and he loves sucking dick, but that's what he does and what he likes, not what he _is_. El Niño might be a flamboyant exhibitionist, but Fernando definitely isn’t. Unlike Cesc, he's not a free-spirited slut at heart.

"Getting stage fright?" Martin asks, hands snaking around Fernando's calves and snapping him out of his thoughts. Martin looks quite stunning like this, with his face lit up by the screen, highlighting those cheekbones and his angular jaw. That is one handsome motherfucker, Fernando thinks. His face looks as white as a snowflake, but his eyes are blazing as though there's an electric-blue fire burning inside. 

Fernando answers Martin's question by smirking and undressing. His jacket goes first, then his shirt. He kicks off his sneakers and steps out of his socks. Just when he's about to unzip his jeans, Martin holds his hands. "Let me," he says.

He's had so many brand new designer briefs ripped apart by Martin's impatience to remove underwear that, tonight, he decided not to wear any. Maybe tearing the clothes out of him is something that Martin wants to do, maybe it's part of the package for him, but he never mentioned it specifically and Fernando's frankly a little tired of having to stock up on the expensive work garb. There's a moment of apprehension there, but then Martin burying his nose between Fernando's legs, biting the inner side of his thighs and that is all the response he needs. Martin purring like a cat probably means he should go commando more often.

The Spaniard sucks the air in and throws his head back as Martin's warm, hungry lips close around his cock.

Martin's technique is not exactly gentle; there's a lot of teeth and a lot of spit and he sucks on Fernando's dick like the world's about to end and blowing someone is the last good thing he'll ever do in his life. It's desperate and rushed; not exactly bad, just... a C + or a B -, if he's feeling generous. Not his favorite part with Martin, for sure, but it's just to get him started. When he gets fully erect, he decides it's time for them to switch and head on to the good bits, so he holds Martin's head in place and pulls his hips away. "Get up here," he says, and the other man does. His lips look so absolutely ravishing all red and swollen that Fernando immediately wraps his arms around the Slovakian and attacks his mouth while stepping out of his jeans and undoing the other man's trousers with just one hand. He's that deft.

Martin pushes Fernando to his knees, making sure that his ass is turned towards Daniel's direction, and pulls out his cock. Fernando holds his hips and licks him up, from the base to the tip, before taking him in. Martin groans, grabs as much hair as he can and pulls Fernando roughly. He's demanding and harsh, but allows Fernando to move of his own accord, licking the head of his cock and pressing his tongue to the slit on the top before swallowing him completely again - slowly at first, then gradually accelerating the rhythm. He stops at times to suck on his balls - Martin goes crazy, lets out a guttural moan and twists his fingers in Fernando's hair. 

Every little sound they make reverberates across the walls and fills up the entire theatre. Fernando can hear the wet sound of Martin's flesh in and out of his mouth like there's someone holding a microphone underneath him. It makes everything sound 100% filthier and sends a jolt straight to his underbelly. He and Martin must paint quite the image up there, in front of this gigantic screen, naked bodies lit up by the cold, hard white light from the projector. Daniel's probably having a feast in there.

Martin slides out of Fernando's mouth and rubs his cock on his face, against his cheeks, poking the sides of his nose and leaving him all sticky with spit and pre-come. "You like that, don't you?" His accent gets thicker the more turned on he is. "You love having a big cock in your face. I bet you wish Daniel was here too..." Martin slaps the side of Fernando's face with his cock. "You'd have one cock in your mouth and another fucking you from behind."

Fernando groans loudly, opening his lips to try and catch Martin's dick again, while sticking out his ass in the air for the man watching from the back. "Yes..." he says, in between moans. "I'd fucking love that." He really can’t think of anything he’d want more than that right now; it’s the effect the El Niño switch has on him.

"Hmmm..." Martin hums, and then pushes Fernando back gently, nodding his head to indicate he wants him to lie down. "On your stomach," he says, with a deep, raspy voice that makes Fernando want to suck face with him some more because his blowjob might not be the best in the world, but all the things that make him not such a great blower most definitely make Martin a brilliant kisser. 

Lying flat down is uncomfortable with a hard on and the old carpet is prickling his skin, but it doesn't take long before Martin's back, pulling Fernando's ass up so that he's leaning on his knees and elbows. Fernando sticks out his ass as much as possible for better contact, rubbing himself against Martin's crotch. He grabs Fernando by the hair and pulls him back none too gently. "Suck on them," he says, pushing two fingers in Fernando's mouth. "Suck on them like you do with my cock." He does as he's told, using his tongue to slick up his client's fingers.

Shortly after, Martin takes his hand away and presses his fingers against Fernando's entrance. Fernando stiffens in anticipation, spreading his legs wider. "You're gonna have to beg," Martin says, putting just the tip in and stopping.

Fernando bites on his lip to keep from screaming in frustration, his own cock throbbing and demanding attention already. "Please," he says, his voice coming out hoarse with desire.

"Please what? You're gonna have to be more specific than that."

" _Please_ ," Fernando repetes. "Please - _fuck_! Just get on with it, for fuck's sake!"

Martin laughs. "You're so greedy." He kisses Fernando's back. "Right now, what do you want me to do?" His fingers slide inside just a tiny bit more and Fernando clenches around him.

"Please, fuck me," he hisses. "Please, God, just fuck me."

"That's better."

Martin slides both fingers in, and then out, going as deep as he can - which is not nearly deep enough, in Fernando's opinion. He's desperate here, pushing himself against Martin's hands, writhing under his touch and moaning loudly while the other man calls him several variations of slut, some in languages Fernando doesn't even understand - but he's sure Daniel does.

When he's finally done torturing him, Martin slides a condom onto himself and enters Fernando with one violent thrust. He screams in pain. Martin places his hands on both sides of Fernando's hips and continues to pound into him mercilessly, fast and strong, groaning so loud Fernando thinks people might be hearing them from the street. Suddenly the idea of doing this in front of a real audience doesn't seem so bad anymore; Fernando wishes people would hear them and come in and sit down and watch. He imagines a dozen - _a hundred_ people masturbating to the sight of Martin fucking his ass, and his moans get louder as he meets Martin with every thrust.

At some point, Martin pulls Fernando towards him, their bodies molding together perfectly, back to chest, curve to curve. Martin's heart is like a runaway train against Fernando's back; his skin feels so hot it might burn. Slovakian lips latch onto the sensitive skin on his neck and Fernando leans his head sideways to give him better access while rolling his ass against the other man's crotch, cock still buried deep inside him. "Hmmm," Fernando pants, lips parted and eyes closed.

Martin's thrusts become slower and shorter and Fernando screams from the top of his lungs as he hits his sweet spot with every single one of them. "Come for me," Martin says, from behind gritted teeth, stroking Fernando's cock ferociously. It doesn't take long for him to spurt, and, while his moves become a little more desperate, he brings his hand up for Fernando to lick his own come off his fingers.

Martin hits orgasm shortly after, muffling a groan by biting Fernando's neck hard. They stay like that for a moment longer, Fernando’s thrusts slowing down bit by bit, before Fernando’s knees buckle under his weight, his entire body seeming to turn into water as he slides out of Martin's grip to lie down on the floor, trying to remember how to breathe.

Martin joins him, lying shoulder to shoulder. "That was..." he starts, but leaves it at that because it's enough.

"Hm-hmm," Fernando replies, not daring to try to form any sentences just yet. His brain is still marveling at this beautiful sensation of perfect bliss and he doesn't intend to move an inch until he's not seeing stars anymore. If there's a word to describe what sex with Martin is like, that would be intense. All the adrenaline that having a fuck in a strange, possibly illegal place gets coursing through his body makes him twice as turned on, twice as hot and a hundred times more spent afterwards.

Once blood is not pumping so loud in his ears and his heart has quieted down a bit, Fernando realizes how suddenly silent everything has gone. Martin's breath is still uneven, but almost in a lullaby sort of way. The carpet still sucks, but he's pretty sure he could shut his eyes and maybe doze off for half an hour if he tries.

He's only starting to wonder where Daniel is – he should’ve come out by now, shouldn’t he? - when the sound of the large wooden doors disrupts their stillness. Martin leans back on his elbows to watch as his boyfriend approaches in a determined march, eyes sparkling with fire even from afar. He stands up and climbs down the stage, throwing himself in the other man's arms as they share a passionate kiss - full of lust and need and absolute adoration. This is Daniel’s way of applauding the show.

Fernando wishes he had a camera right now to photograph Martin's naked, sweaty body wrapped by Daniel's colored arms, tattoo on tattoo and nails sank possessively on skin. It's breathtakingly gorgeous.

As it normally happens, Fernando disappears into the background as the scenario shifts to be all about the two of them. He's no more than a silent witness now. They'll be having sex in just a second and Fernando will stay and watch because that's what he does, but his mind is suddenly not interested in the act anymore. All he sees are two people very much in love, so much so that one of them is willing to fuck a prostitute if that's what's going to make his partner happy. Not that Martin doesn't enjoy his part, of course - but it can't be an easy decision, to bring a complete stranger into their relationship. The chances of it causing an unfixable rupture can't be slim; Fernando knows their kinks, he knows all of Martin's favorite things in bed, is familiar with all his sounds and every inch of skin on his body. There has to be a lot of compromising for that to work. 

Most of all there has to be a fucking load of trust. Martin has to be _sure_ that Daniel's eyes are always going to be on him and not lusting after Fernando individually, the same way Daniel needs to be _certain_ that his boyfriend is not going to suddenly come to appreciate his time with the whore more than he should. Only there's no way you can know any of those things for certain; you just have to trust. It's all you can do.

And it works. For them it works. It makes them happy and more in love than ever, it seems.

It's fucking gorgeous to watch the two of them. Daniel's moves seem rough, but the words he whispers in Martin's ears sound incredibly reassuring. Fernando's got no idea what he's saying, but he knows they're letting him into something very intimate. He's not sure, but he thinks he hears the word _love_ more than once. Might've just been an impression, though; it's hard to tell from the way Martin's groaning so loud.

For some reason, Fernando thinks of Sergio.

x-x-x

That night, Fernando goes home long after the streets have gone quiet and all the crowd outside has either gone home or found something better to do other than freezing their balls off out in the cold. Daniel offers him a ride, which would be wonderful, really, but he politely declines it because they might be two of his favorites, but that's still not good enough for Fernando to want them knowing where to find him. You never know when that might become an inconvenience. So he takes a cab instead.

He nearly falls asleep on the ride home, but the air is cold on his face and the short walk from the car to his building wakes him up a little. He runs through a shower and his muscles are all still pretty sore, but, as he sits down to make himself a sandwich, his mind reels back to the theater - to Daniel and Martin and all that, and not in the way it usually does either.

He checks his watch and realizes he's being absolutely crazy - like really fucking out of his mind crazy - but he puts on a coat and sneakers and flies out the door with his hair still wet to find a cab to take him to Chelsea at almost four in the morning. Fernando almost asks the driver to turn around and go back a million times during the ride, but he keeps his resolve steady - _ish_ and pulls through.

So what if Sergio's asleep and won't even open the door to him? The worst that can happen is that he'll stand there looking stupid in the cold for ten minutes before realizing he has to go back. Nothing he hasn't experienced before in much, much direr circumstances.

The doorman gives him a weird look but lets him in anyway because he knows Fernando's face by now. The fact he's being allowed inside a posh building, where there are small fortunes in each and every floor, while dressed like a lunatic and in the wee hours is saying a lot - it's more than just saying, it's screaming something huge in Fernando's face, spelling it out for him in neon-lights, but he decides not to think about it just yet, lest he allows his paranoia to take hold of him. 

Fernando establishes with himself that he'll only ring the doorbell twice, and not for too long either. If Sergio doesn't answer the door in two rings, than he'll just leave and come back tomorrow. It's unfair for him to be dragging someone out of bed like this, but if Sergio wakes up in two rings, that means he wasn't that soundly asleep to begin with - which still doesn't make any of it ok, but Fernando’s skew reasoning sort of turns it into a mitigating factor of some sort to justify his craziness.

He ends up ringing it three times, though, and it turns out to be his lucky number, because less than a minute later Sergio opens the door, visibly disoriented and shying his eyes from the light.

"Fernando?" he says, probably wondering if he’s really there or if this is just a very realistic dream.

"Hi," Fernando replies, smiling nervously and shifting on his feet. "Can I come in?"

"Uhm... I... Sure."

He makes way for Fernando to step inside and shuts the door again, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands and stifling a yawn. 

It comes to Fernando’s attention that he is _desperate_ to throw his arms around the other man's neck and kiss him and that that feeling might have been just what drove him all the way here in the middle of the fucking night. He balls his hands into fists and keeps his feet rooted to his spot, though.

"Are you ok?" Sergio asks, blinking slowly at him.

"Yeah," he answers, biting his lips. "I'm fine. You?"

"Uhm..." Sergio scratches the back of his neck. "I don't know. I just woke up, I'm a little..." He waves his hands vaguely in the air and leaves it at that.

"I'm sorry," he says, shaking his head. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"Really?" Sergio smiles fondly. "Guess you could've got me there, what with the knocking on my door at... What time is it?"

"Four. Ish."

"Fuck. That's early."

"I'm sorry. This is stupid. I should -"

"Hey," Sergio says, putting his palms out in a placating gesture. "You're already here. No point in leaving."

"Oh," Fernando nods. "Right."

They stay silent for a moment. Fernando shoves his hands in his trouser pockets, rocks forward onto the balls of his feet, doesn't really know what to do or what to say, now that he's here. It felt like he had _something_ to communicate, something important and that couldn't wait, but now that he's here, he's just… forgotten all of it, everything. Although that churning in his insides is still going strong.

"Would you like some coffee?" Sergio asks.

"At this hour?"

"Did you come here to sleep?"

"... No."

"Well, then. Coffee it is."

He follows Sergio to the kitchen and watches as he moves around, gathering things from here and there. Making coffee is a little ritual for him - he likes to pick the beans himself, grind them, prepare it to perfection. His moves are a little sluggish and it takes him a couple seconds too long from one task to the other, like he keeps trying to remember what he's supposed to do next, stopping every now and again to yawn and force his eyelids to stay open. 

His struggle to stay awake guilts Fernando into talking, at last.

"I did a lot of thinking tonight," he starts.

"Oh?" Sergio asks, eyes glued to the coffee grinder.

"Couldn't really sleep and all."

"I can see that."

Fernando looks down at the spot between his feet. He didn't even remember to put socks on before he left his flat. "I was thinking about that thing you said. About the condom?"

Sergio flickers his eyes up at him shortly, frowning. "That kept you up all night?"

"Sort of."

"And what were you thinking?"

Fernando inhales deeply. "I was thinking that it's ok. Not wearing condoms, I mean."

Sergio stops and looks up at him, slightly shocked. "Really?"

Fernando nods. "I got tested fairly recently, so... I'm clean."

"I never thought you weren't." He leaves the coffee apparatus aside and walks up to Fernando, sleepiness morphing into concern. "Fernando, I didn't mean to imply that you might be sick. I wasn't trying to get a confession out of you or anything. That's not why I asked."

"I know," he smiles. "That's not why I'm saying yes either."

Sergio smiles back, relaxing a little. They're so close now Fernando could just tip his body forward a little and they'd be kissing.

"What made you change your mind?"

And that - that is the true big question. The one for which the answer encompasses the reason why Fernando's here, in the middle of the night, feeling awkward and doing impulsive things he never does. There are a million reasons why he changed his mind. It goes from small things, like missing bareback sex, to impossibly huge things, such as feeling, for the first time in a long time, that he can actually trust someone enough to do it.

He could tell the truth and say that he just witnessed two people who love each other very much making a very strong case for trust, and how much that represents in a relationship. Fernando finally understood that loyalty doesn't just mean not sleeping around. He's not faithful to Sergio in the most classic sense, but he is loyal in so many more ways that not even he knew until tonight. He figures - when you like someone, when you really like someone, you have to show it whichever way you can. He spends so much time worried about not getting too attached to Sergio because somewhere deep down he knows he'll get tired of all this bullshit and leave that he forgets that if he doesn't want Sergio to go, then he has to give him reasons to stay.

And bareback sex is not even the point here. That’s not going to be enough to keep anybody, anywhere. What he wants Sergio to know is that he is appreciated and trusted and, above all, _special_. He's not like all the other ones. Maybe a condom is not exactly the most impressive way of proving anything, but it means a lot to him, and he hopes that Sergio gets it.

What he doesn't really know how to do is explain all that in a way that won't be screaming _I love you so much I can't even handle myself anymore_. Because, if he's honest, that's really what he means to say. But he's so not ready for it.

"I guess I understand what you meant, after all," he answers. It’s a bit too far from the real thing, but Sergio's smile widens. It's a different one, although Fernando doesn't really know what it means, this smile of his. He hasn't learned everything there is to know about Sergio yet, and he’s only just now noticing how much he wants to do that. But he figures - it doesn't matter that he doesn’t get it all yet. A smile is a smile is a smile.

"You know you don't _have_ to do that, right? It's not going to change anything if you're not up for it."

That's a fucking blatant lie, Fernando means to point out, based on Sergio’s reaction to him putting an end to the discussion earlier. But he doesn't say anything so as not to enter into another discussion altogether that might just ruin their little moment. "I know. But I want to."

Sergio cups Fernando's face with his hands and pulls him closer, kissing his lips chastely. "Okay," he says against Fernando's mouth, in-between small kisses. "Thank you for that."

Fernando nods, breathing him in and feeling his chest fill with an impossible sense of satisfaction. Sergio's mouth slides from his as he starts placing small kisses down Fernando's neck, sending a little tingly sensation down to every end of his body. He's so immersed in it that it takes him a moment to realize that Sergio's lips are suddenly not in contact with his skin anymore and that the other man seems oddly absent looking at something - something on his neck.

His face is wrought deep with an expression; and it's not a good one either.

Then Fernando remembers - the bite Martin gave him while he was coming. Jesus... 

He takes a hand up to his neck and covers the spot. "Sergio," he says, pulling the other man out of his thoughts.

"Sorry," Sergio apologizes, half embarrassed, half something else entirely. "I didn't mean to - stare."

They're still standing pretty close to one another but there's not an inch of their bodies touching anymore and Sergio's pointedly looking over his shoulder to avoid having to look at him. Just like this - one second everything's beautiful and perfect and the next it all comes crashing down as they're pulled back to reality. And reality means other men leave love marks all over Sergio's boyfriend's body sometimes and no matter how hard he tries to disguise it, it bothers the fuck out of him.

"Are you ok?" Fernando asks, tentatively. "I can explain it, if you want. But I don't think you want to hear it."

Sergio nods, giving him a sad smile that doesn't quite meet his eyes. "Probably not."

"... should I go?"

"What? No," Sergio hurries to say, shaking his head. "No, of course not. Don't be stupid, I just - I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize."

"No, I do, I do. You came all the way here in the middle of the night because of something I asked you and I'm acting like an asshole. I'm sorry."

Fernando nods lightly. "Okay."

Sergio wraps his arms around Fernando's waist and pulls him into a tight embrace and Fernando wants to scream _Finally!_ , but he just kisses Sergio's bare shoulder and rubs his back instead. And maybe shuts his eyes for a second and feels his entire body going soft and relaxed as well, because when that flutter of feelings and the rush of adrenaline start wearing out, fuck, he's tired... 

"Do you want to go to bed?" Sergio asks.

"Hmmm," he mumbles in a way that says _'yes, but I also want to stay here_ '. And Sergio replies with a mild laugh that says _'I know, but we're both gonna end up falling asleep and then tumbling down and cracking our heads open_ ', so Fernando replies, "You have a point," even though he never really said anything. "Is that too disappointing?”

"Is what disappointing?"

"If I fall asleep on you? 'Cause I might. I'm halfway there already."

"'S not disappointing. I was sleeping before you came here, I'd gladly go back to it."

"What about the sex?"

"You're still gonna be here tomorrow, right?"

Fernando gives it a thought, tries to recall if he's got anyone scheduled for tomorrow, but gives up and says _Fuck it_. If he's got someone, Xabi's going to call, and when he does, he'll just cancel on whoever the fuck it is. Screw it. He's taking the day off.

"Yeah," he finally replies.

"We'll have time, then," Sergio pulls away, pinching Fernando's nose playfully and smiling. "Come on. Let's get that fine ass of yours in bed."

Fernando wants to say thank you and he wants to apologize for showing up with a hickey on his neck and he wants to say ' _Don't ever fucking leave me_ ', but he just likes the way Sergio's looking at him and he wants him to keep doing that, so instead he just says, "Okay" and takes his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I will ever get over Daniel Agger not being a Liverpool player anymore. :( I'm like that with Finnan too. The guy's retired and I still can't over it. =( I was really upset when he left, and I kept thinking about that as I wrote this chapter. I guess that's one of the reasons why it took me so long to be sufficiently satisfied with it.


	7. Zlatan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per usual, big shout to **crazychelseablue** , who has beta'ed this chapter and helped me fix all the things I didn't like about it. :) 
> 
> This chapter is slightly different from the others in style, so I hope you guys like it. I'd like to thank everyone who has been taking their time to comment on this story and let me know their thoughts. I _really_ appreciate it, guys! Thank you so much! \o/ Also, because some of you asked, I brought Cesc back. Hope you like it. ;)

"Oh, look who's here!" Cesc greets him with his typically ironic enthusiasm and a smile that nobody should be allowed to have before noon. "I didn't know you were coming to socialize with us commoners today or I would've asked the other servants to roll out the red carpet for Your Royal Whoreness," he adds.

Fernando rolls his eyes and takes a seat on one of the stools next to where his friend (sometimes he thinks that word might be stretching the nature of his relationship with Cesc a tad too far) is gluing red sequins on a cloak. So very artsy; so very gay. "Sometimes I really don't know why I still talk to you," Fernando muses.

"That's because you don't really talk to me. Only sometimes."

"That's what I said, sometimes. And the reason is that I almost always regret trying to strike up a conversation with you. I do have to say, though, it takes a lot of talent to be as much of a bitch as you are."

"And he comes bearing compliments too," Cesc says, beaming at him. Fernando thinks he puts a real effort into being as adorably detestable as anyone can possibly be. "To what do I owe the honor of your presence, gorgeous?"

"Nothing. Just hanging out."

Cesc snorts. "Obviously. Because that's something you always do."

Fernando opens his mouth to retort but changes his mind half-way because, really, that was a lame thing for him to say. Cesc is right, he never stops by the club to _hang out_ \- not in the middle of the day and preferably not while he's sober. Fernando's not really the night club type, although he spent some time acting otherwise when he moved to London to work with Xabi. The club is stage one at the agency, everyone starts there. Moving up in the ladder means you slowly get removed from the club action, and, the more Xabi likes you (or the more money you make him), the more exclusive you become, so the less you get to be seen hanging out with the 'commoners', as Cesc so cunningly put.

Fernando didn't last too long at the club stage. One could say he was something like a prodigy, moving up the ranks at the speed of light. It didn't take him six months in London to be one of Xabi's top three; less than a year after that and he was already number one. That's how good a prostitute he is. Although Mourinho is at least partly responsible for that meteoric rise as well. Becoming the favorite of the agency's most important client was like gaining a thousand points for Gryffindor all at once. Mourinho was a huge leap towards being in every VIP client's contacts list. Soon enough everybody was calling for El Niño. 

Fernando likes to think that his ascension within the agency was much more about his own talented blow-jobs and acting skills than it was about Mourinho's recommendations. He's particularly adopted that line of thinking since he started sleeping with the man's son. How much he owes José for his success is really a debt he wants to brush aside and pretend never happened.

Cesc was lifted off the club stage a long time ago as well, but no one will ever take the live shows away from him. It's like he was born for it. The idea is quite clever, actually: all those horny bitches get to have a glimpse at what a night with that show-off Fàbregas is like, they tip wonderfully as they jerk off in the audience like a bunch of adolescents and before the night is over there are lines outside Xabi's office, everyone trying to schedule a date with the star.

It's not exactly the kind of clientele Xabi's looking for when it comes to his highest ranked escorts - those are the ones he saves for the millionaires and VIPs who give him not only small fortunes at a time but also a reputation -, but one cannot tame Cesc's appetite for sex. He's ten thousand times worse than Fernando. Xabi knows better than to try to reason with that one, so he just lets Cesc get whoever he wants. Money is still money at the end of the day. 

"I stopped by to get my schedule from Xabi," Fernando admits after a moment, and this time he's not lying. Not entirely, anyway.

"Busy week?" Cesc asks, fighting a little with his hot glue gun.

"More or less," Fernando shrugs. "Could be worse."

"Could be better, then."

"In your world, yes." Cesc grins at him. He loves being a slut; you can see it in his eyes. With Cesc, there's no switch, no persona, no alter ego: what you see is exactly what you get. He's exactly the same person at all times.

"So, uhm..." Fernando starts again, looking down at his own hands and wondering exactly how to ask what he came here to ask. He's still not sure that coming to Cesc for advice is even a good idea - in fact, he's pretty certain there's a fat chance he'll regret it. But the meeting with Xabi was, well... Worrisome would be one way to put it. "Xabi said you're in charge of the show tonight," he winds up adding instead. 

It's awkward, talking about _important_ things with Cesc. The only time the two of them were truly serious they were either drunk and/or high (which sort of doesn't count then) or talking about sex (which is strange, being serious while talking about the mechanics of sex, but it's true).

"Yup."

"Who's with you?" he continues, drifting even further away from the point. Fernando tells himself that what he's doing here is strategy; he's buying himself time to either grow some balls or give up the stupid idea of sharing his drama with someone at all (preferably the latter).

"Gerard and the new kid," Cesc answers.

"Which one?"

"Hayward."

Fernando frowns. "Who the hell is Hayward?"

"You know. That one. With the blue eyes and shit."

"... You mean Hazard?"

"That's it."

"He's been here for a week and Xabi's already putting him on a live show?"

Cesc glances swiftly at him. "Two months, honey."

Fernando's eyes widen in surprise. He could swear that the first time he ever heard someone mention 'Hazard, the new kid' was less than two weeks ago. "That long?"

"And you're always stopping by to hang out. Imagine if you never did," Cesc comments, all derision.

"Fuck off."

"Anyway," Fàbregas continues, around a sigh. "I'd keep one eye open for him if I were you."

"Why?" Fernando asks, eyebrows knit together.

Cesc raises his head, looks around to check if they’re alone, and then leans over to whisper furtively. "X is developing a quick crush on Haggard."

"Hazard."

"Whatever," he snaps. "There have been loads of requests for him already, from what I've heard. There's even a rumor going around that _you know who_ wants him at his next party..." Fàbregas puts one finger under his eye and pulls the skin down a little to indicate Fernando should stay vigilant.

"Voldemort?"

"Or his Portuguese equivalent."

"Mourinho?!" Fernando doesn't mean to sound so enthusiastically surprised, like Cesc just told him he’s pregnant of a long awaited baby (if he could get pregnant, anyway), but he does. His heart skips a happy beat even. He’s very nearly shrieking.

"Of course I mean Mourinho," Cesc replies, mildly annoyed, and luckily not picking up on his not so subtle cheerfulness. "But I didn't want to mention him because what we're doing here is _gossip_ ," he continues, meaning something on the lines of _you’re an idiot_.

Fernando doesn't care; frankly, he stopped listening to try and stop a smile from creeping onto his face. Cesc has no clue whatsoever that he has just shared the best piece of information of the week: Mourinho personally requesting a new boy at his party. It means he's at least curious about Hazard's building reputation, which in turn means that maybe, just _maybe_ , he won't mind if Fernando turns him down the next time he calls. He'll have a new boy and so the old one is now irrelevant. Hazard might just be his get out of jail free card.

Not that Fernando wants to have a new boy taking his spot as the agency's number 1, of course. He's too proud for that. But he surely wouldn't mind not being Mourinho's favorite anymore. The fact that he'll have to deal with the whole Mourinho situation at some point in the not so distant future has been freaking him out. 

It is particularly great to hear that Hazard has caught José's attention after Xabi just informed him that there's a new party looming on the horizon. Fernando went cold as a popsicle at that.

For some time now, the Spaniard has been trying to come up with a way of breaking the Sergio news to Xabi. At first, he didn't think he would ever have to; surely it would be over before it ever turned into a problem that demanded Xabi being dragged into it. But that was months ago now, and, so far, Sergio hasn't shown any signs of backing out. The next Mourinho party feels something like a deadline: that's as long as he has to tell Xabi about his boyfriend if he wants to have a shot at walking out of his boss’ office still breathing.

But if Mourinho's really that much into Hazard - that might just buy him some more time.

God, he could kiss the fuck out of that kid right now.

"Wow, that's... Great," Fernando says, trying to contain the excitement.

"For him, of course. For you, not so much."

He wants to say he doesn't care, or that he would pay Hazard fat money himself to make sure he lures Mourinho into his trap, but he doesn't want to give so much away, so instead he says, "What are you saying, Fàbregas? You don't think I can take on a kid?" because _pride_ and _competition _are two things Cesc can relate to.__

__He gives Fernando a curt, strained smile. "You're adorable, Niño, you are. And those freckles? A real plus. Old men love freckles. It makes you look a lot younger than you are. You're almost 30 but you're still rocking the _Niño_ nickname and being moderately convincing, so, yeah - I get it. You're confident. But not even _that_ ," he says, pointing a finger to Fernando's nose, which he assumes means his freckles, "is going to keep the boyish look going on forever. Howard is _actually_ young, he's fresh, he's _sassy_. You know? With an attitude? And the blue eyes." Cesc sticks out his tongue, faking a vomit sound. "God, I hate those blue-eyed bitches."_ _

__"I thought you liked Pique."_ _

__"Gerard is my friend, that's different. But still - he gets to charge 50 pounds more than me just because of his eyes, did you know that? It's ridiculous."_ _

__Fernando smiles. "I don't have a thing for blue eyes."_ _

__"Thank you, but I don't give a shit. You're not paying me, are you? I'm talking about market here. And it's fucking unfair." Cesc huffs out a breath and shakes his head helplessly. "Anyway. Just keep an eye out for Hickard or before you know it, he's X’s new baby boy."_ _

__"Jesus, Cesc. Can't you get the guy's name right? I found out about him just the other day and even I know his name. It's _Hazard_."_ _

__Fàbregas stops, looks away from Fernando and takes a deep breath, puffing up his cheeks as though making a real effort not to lose his patience. So beautifully over the top, his Cesc. "For your information," he starts after a moment, meeting Fernando's eyes again and placing both hands on his waist. "He wants to be called _Eden_. That's his fucking stage name. I have no idea if that's his real name or some pretentious bullshit he came up with because he's a delusional bitch who thinks he's some piece of heaven or whatever. What I do know about, though, is how to treat newbies, and the first rule is: you don't get their names right. The second you do, they start thinking they're _relevant_ and getting full of themselves, acting like they're shit and picking stupid stage names like fucking _Eden_. X is already licking that kid's ass, and somebody’s gotta put him in his place. So Imma keep calling that bitch Hickard until he deserves a real name. That's how you do it."_ _

__Now, that is… Certainly unexpected, for one. By the end of that rant, Fernando's completely startled. Cesc is... Well, he's Cesc. That's saying enough. Fernando has no idea where he gets these things from, but, from time to time, he comes up with some _ground rules_ for prostitutes and goes about telling people and, well. You just have to listen and try not to laugh, really. What else are you going to do?_ _

__"Well, that's," he starts, trying to come up with anything at all to say. When nothing seems to form, he decides to just point out how little sense it makes. "A load of crap, actually," he adds. "Are you going through some Regina George phase or something?"_ _

__Cesc glares. "Nando, stop acting like you're so grand, all right? You're royal bollocks and all around here, and I respect that 'cause you literally worked your ass off to be number one, but don't try to point fingers. You don't know what it's like, ok? You gotta show all those fresh asses what their place is or they just fucking eat you up. In this business, new trumps old very quickly if you don't keep your eyes open and a whip in hand to coach them kids right. It's a fucking jungle, an eye for an eye. And Regina George is a diva, so shut your Lindsay Lohan trap, will you?"_ _

__Fernando manages to keep the laugh at a small chuckle as to not piss Cesc off. "If you say so," he shrugs._ _

__"I do," Cesc nods. "And you should watch your back for Hayward."_ _

__"I sure will. Thanks for the advice."_ _

__"You're fucking welcome."_ _

__Cesc turns away from him again, going back to inspecting the piece he was working on for the show. Once the shock from the whole rant thing dissipates, Fernando starts getting antsy once more. And the thing is, that feeling is becoming more and more familiar to him. It comes and goes in waves, but it never completely abandons him, this sense of urgency that makes him want to run and hide and never come out again because denial is always so much easier than facing his issues._ _

__Not that Fàbregas is the most qualified person to give him any sort of advice, but he has experience in fields in which Fernando is terribly lacking. Like at maintaining relationships outside of work._ _

__And here’s the whole reason why Fernando decided to casually stop by the club to see Cesc on his way out of a semi-panic attack after speaking to Xabi: Sergio._ _

__So Sergio is great, right? Fernando's established that by now. He was in doubt for a long time, but it's a pretty straightforward answer. He digs Sergio. He really does. And he feels good when they're together and he misses him when they're not. That is sufficiently worrisome in Fernando’s book and implies a whole bunch of things, but there’s more._ _

__Lately, they've been spending _a lot_ of time together. And when Fernando says a lot, he means a giant fat fucking lot. And because they spend this much time together, loads of sex ensues. It's only natural. But it's also a problem in itself._ _

__When Sergio starts showing up at his place every other night under the pretense of being worried about his eating habits - 'I just learned this recipe and I think you'll love it' or 'You have _got_ to try out this new restaurant I just found out, it's brilliant' or even 'How long has it been since you've eaten a vegetable?'- Fernando knows exactly what he's doing. Sergio thinks he's being as subtle as a cat, but his intentions are just about as obscure as a thump to the head._ _

__Not that Fernando doubts Sergio's good intentions. There really might be a part of him concerned that Fernando's life style could be affecting his health, somehow. Although it does sound kinda stupid. But, you know. It's fine. It's sweet, even, in an awkward way. However, that is 100% not Sergio's true main motivation. What he's really doing there, what he really, _really_ wants, is to cement his space in Fernando's life, one step at a time. A little dinner here, then a little breakfast there, and before you know it they're spending almost every night together and Fernando's reduced his number of clients per week from five or six to just one or two. If even that._ _

__And here's where it gets really complicated: Xabi can smell bullshit from miles away. He _knows_ he's being lied to, he just lets Fernando think he's winning because he probably hasn't figured everything out yet. But he will, one day. And there's really no predicting the size of the shitstorm that will befall them when it happens. _ _

__Fernando's supposedly dimmed libido prompts Xabi to schedule him a thorough check-up with a doctor, just so that they can get that possibility out of the way. As an escort, being called 'sick' is quite an offense. Nobody wants to do a prostitute with so much as a runny nose. But Xabi thinking he's coming down with something will buy him time and also keep him from taking hundreds of clients a week, so fair enough. For now, anyway._ _

__Juggling Xabi and Sergio is really exhausting. One wants him to work too much, the other wants him to never work again; one gets personally offended if he turns down major clients, the other tries to act like he's cool but is really not okay with the fact Fernando's still fucking other people. The distance between El Niño and Fernando has never been bigger and yet so small at the same time. It's getting harder and harder to be both of them. And even harder to figure out which he wants to be most._ _

__Fernando's getting that growing sensation that he might have to make a choice at some point, but he absolutely loathes the idea. Hence why he needs to talk to Fàbregas. There has to be _someone_ with an answer out there._ _

__"Uhm... Cesc?" he starts again, tentatively. Cesc just makes a humming sound, so Fernando continues. "Can I ask you something?"_ _

__"You just did."_ _

__"Something personal, I mean."_ _

__"Personal as in, what's the highest number of cocks I've taken at once, or personal as in, what's my favorite color?"_ _

__Fernando pauses, frowning a little. "... Neither? I mean personal like... Your personal life. Not your slut life."_ _

__"Oh." Cesc stops, lifts his eyes back to Fernando and then cocks him an eyebrow. "What's up with that?"_ _

__"What's up with what?"_ _

__"You, asking me personal questions? You never do that." Fàbregas leaves his work aside again and turns to Fernando so that they're facing each other. His expression morphs lightly into something less sarcastic and more concerned. "Are you ok?"_ _

__"Yeah. Sure," Fernando shrugs. Fàbregas just narrows his eyes at him. "Nothing happened." Then he leans his head to the side, and Fernando finally sighs. "Ok, something happened."_ _

__His friend motions his hand in an 'obviously' manner and then nods. "Go on."_ _

__"What was the name of that boyfriend of yours? The tall one with the grey hair. From Belgium?" he specifies, because Fàbregas' had more boyfriends than Fernando's had highlights done on his hair, and that's saying a lot._ _

__"Do you mean Netherlands?"_ _

__"Could be."_ _

__"Robin."_ _

__"Right, that's the one."_ _

__"Why are you asking?"_ _

__"I... Why did you guys break up?"_ _

__Fàbregas looks away for a second, shrugs. "It didn't work out."_ _

__"Why not?"_ _

__With a sigh, Cesc takes a seat at the stool next to Fernando. "Shit, you really do mean personal, don't you?" He shakes his head a little and for a moment Fernando thinks he's not going to answer. Cesc is all about bragging, and usually he doesn't give a lot of shits about his boyfriends, but with this Robin person, things were different. Cesc never told any of them about him - Fernando accidentally bumped into them one day at the shopping mall and then Fàbregas was forced to introduce the guy as his boyfriend and, later on, _explain_ it. But if it wasn't for that, he doubts anyone would've ever even heard of his existence. Cesc wasn't himself for an entire week when they broke up; he stayed at home eating ice cream and watching Downton Abbey reruns and didn’t take any clients – seven days without sex is probably the longest Cesc has gone without touching someone else’s genitals since he was 13 or something. _ _

__"Why do you think?" Fàbregas finally answers. "Because I like dick too much and Robin couldn't cope with that. He wasn't ok with what I do, same as everyone else."_ _

__"But he knew?"_ _

__"Not since the beginning, no. Which is why I tried my best not to tell any of you bitches about it. But I decided to be honest and just come clean when I figured we were getting serious-ish, which, in hindsight, was a very dumb move. I don't know why I thought he would be any different and not run away scared."_ _

__"So he just... left you?"_ _

__"Not immediately. He asked for some time to think, then he came back and said he was ok with it. That lasted for about a month, then he changed his mind and I got a kick in the ass. He tried to get me to quit first, though. Got this job offer in Manchester which was really good for him and he wanted me to come with. He had this whole speech rehearsed, you know? About starting over in a new place, where nobody knew me, getting a _real_ job..." Cesc stops and smiles sadly, his eyes a good distance away, like he's remembering every little scene as he tells the story. "I even thought about it for a while, can you believe that? Even I find that incomprehensible now."_ _

__"But you didn't go."_ _

__"Nah, of course not. It's not for me. I'm nothing away from all this. Robin would've dumped me anyway once I started to wither and die as a housewife, so... I didn't get the guy, but at least I got all my bitches here."_ _

__He gives Fernando a smile that doesn't quite meet his eyes and Fernando returns the gesture only half-heartedly; his stomach drops at how familiar all this sounds. His mind suddenly reels back to this morning, when he woke up with Sergio's arm draped over his chest. He can still feel a warm sensation on the exact spot their skin met, can still taste Sergio's coffee-flavored kiss before he left his apartment. The mere thought of one day not having that anymore carves a hole in his heart he hadn't even realized was possible until right this moment._ _

__"Why are you asking me about Robin, anyway?" Cesc enquires, snapping him out of his thoughts. "You didn't fuck him, did you? Because that's fucking betrayal and I will -"_ _

__"Of course not, don't be daft, Cesc," Fernando cuts him off before he can plough on. He bites his lower lip, eyes flickering away for a beat as he builds up the courage to confess. "It's possible that I... Maybe... Well, there's... Someone."_ _

__Cesc opens his mouth slowly until it turns into a huge, winning smile and he jumps from his seat and points a finger in Fernando's face. "I knew it!" he screams. "You are _so_ obvious, Niño! I could _smell_ fancy dick all over your bollocks when you refused that fuck at the Davids' gig!"_ _

__Fernando pulls Cesc closer and then pushes him down onto his stool again. "Can you fucking shut up? Jesus."_ _

__"Wait," he stops. "You haven't told X yet?" Embarrassed, Fernando just shakes his head. Cesc whistles. "Bitch, are you crazy? He's going to motherfucking kill you."_ _

__"Why do you think I haven't said anything?"_ _

__"But I don't get it. You're X's little saint. You tell him _everything_ since he got you dealing behind his back."_ _

__"Well, I haven't told him that part. It's... complicated. I'm still trying to figure things out."_ _

__"Does he know?"_ _

__Fernando makes a short pause. "Yeah. Since the beginning. That's how we met. Sort of. He wasn't a client, but he was... Involved."_ _

__"And he's ok with it?" Cesc asks, eyebrows arched in mild surprise._ _

__"I'm not sure. He acts like he is, but I can feel he's trying too hard, you know? It's not true that he doesn't care, he's just... Making an effort, I guess."_ _

__"That's already more than the vast majority of the bitches around here can claim, and that includes me." Cesc studies Fernando's slightly desperate face for a moment. It's one of those rare moments he might actually be feeling some sympathy for another person's drama. "How much do you like him?"_ _

__"I don't know."_ _

__"Nando..." he prods._ _

__Fernando sighs, shakes his head again. "A lot? I guess. I don't know. It's hard to tell. Sometimes he annoys the hell out of me and I just want to smack his head and then... Then he has this way of looking at me like I'm... The center of the universe."_ _

__"X looks at you like you're the center of the universe," Fàbregas points out._ _

__"Ok, first of all, that's not even true. Xabi looks at me like I'm a sack of money. Second, it's not the same thing. He's... Different. I guess he makes me feel... special. Somehow. It sounds really lame when I say it outloud, but I can't think of any other way to describe it."_ _

__"Like you're a _person_?" Cesc asks, a soft grin dancing on the corner of his lips. "An actual _human being_ with feelings and thoughts and shit? Like you're more than just a good looking face paired up with amazing bed skills?"_ _

__Fernando laughs, but nods at his friend. "I'm not that self-involved, but yeah. Something like that."_ _

__"I know. It was like that with Robin too. Even when we broke up, I could see that it was breaking his heart that he couldn't put up with what I do. It wasn't easy for him either. It's a hard choice to make."_ _

__That word again - _choice_. It is quickly becoming Fernando's least favorite word in the whole of the English language._ _

__"So what you're telling me is that I'm gonna have to choose, eventually?"_ _

__Fàbregas shrugs. "Someone will. Either you, or him. But it's most likely gonna have to be you, because you're the one on the dark side of the Force."_ _

__"What happens if I can't?"_ _

__"That's already a choice, honey. You're saying no to him."_ _

__Fernando scrubs his face with his hands, wearily. This morning already feels like such a long time ago... "Fuck me... I didn't ask for any of this shit."_ _

__"No one ever does. But the ones that hit out of nowhere like a wrecking ball? Those are the worst. It takes a while to get them out of your head. Sometimes longer than that." The way Cesc winks at him at the end of that - it's quite easy to see what he means. Robin was a few years back and the thought of him is probably still there, lurking in the shadows and coming out to haunt Fàbregas right before he goes to sleep, when his mind starts reeling back on all the possibilities he gave up on when he chose to let the love of his life walk away._ _

__How do you even know if it's the love of a lifetime you're giving up on? How do you know you're not going to regret either staying or going? It's so fucking unfair. "I wish I could just.. Unlike him. I'd do it in the blink of an eye. Make everything simple again."_ _

__Fàbregas jumps from his seat and goes back to his sequins. He simply shrugs at Fernando, indicating that their little untypical heart-to-heart moment is over and they're back to being passive-aggressively friendly. He's also probably a little pissed off that Fernando dug out all those Robin feelings._ _

__He means to apologize - or something - because, honestly, he gets it. Sergio's still there and he already feels awful about it. But, you know - it's Cesc. Apologies do shit for him. Besides, that's not really how they operate. There's no pity between the two of them._ _

__"Sucks for you, then," Cesc says, not even bothering to look up again. "It doesn't fucking work like that."_ _

__x-x-x_ _

__

__"You did _what_?" Xabi calmly asks, only that slight hint of emphasis on the last word to indicate his disbelief in what Fernando just told him. _Dumbfounded_ is a strange look on Xabi, not something you get to see very often. _ _

__Fernando, he wishes he could find a hole to climb into and disappear right now. He's making an effort to hold Xabi's gaze levelly because he doesn't want to feel any more embarrassed or defeated than he already does, but his slumped shoulders and the worry lines on his forehead are giving it all away. "I can't explain it," he says, around a sigh. "I don't know what got into me, it just... It happened."_ _

__"Tell me again, 'cause I don't think I heard it right the first time."_ _

__"Please, don't make me repeat it, Xabi."_ _

__"You fell _asleep_?" He says, a tune akin to shock in his voice. Fernando nods his head timidly. "That's impossible, Fernando. How can you fall asleep around Zlatan? That man doesn't shut up for one second."_ _

__"I know!" Fernando flails. "He was talking. I could hear him talking, I just... I don't know, I zoned out. His voice became distant and then when I realized it, it was ten minutes later and he was _screaming_ at me."_ _

__"Was it _during_ intercourse?" Fernando makes a grimace. Admitting those things to Xabi is - well, painful is certainly a word for it. He can see the look of horror in his boss' eyes. Hell, he'd have the same look on his face if he were in Xabi's place right now. How the fuck does an experienced and extremely expensive prostitute _fall asleep_ during sex with a high profile client? It's not only _awful_ , it's shameful as well. Fernando wants to go home, bury himself in his bed and never come out, ever again. _ _

__God, when he woke up with Zlatan yelling in Swedish at him and realized what had happened he just wished for the apocalypse to begin and for a crack in the earth to open under his feet and swallow him out of that room. Possibly out of the universe. It was the single most embarrassing moment of his life as an escort. He's pretty sure that if it had happened to any one of the other boys Xabi wouldn't have spared a second thought before firing them, even Cesc._ _

__"Oh my God, Fernando," he says, shaking his head at him._ _

__"I know!" Fernando leans his elbows on his knees and buries his face in his hands, rubbing his forehead with the tip of his fingers. His head is about to explode; it's like there's a tiny person with a fucking hammer inside his skull._ _

__"Honestly, I can't understand how something like that happens," Xabi continues. "Were you drugged?"_ _

__"Of course not!"_ _

__"Well, then how the fuck can you not stay awake with a man the size of a small boat on top of you, sticking his dick up your ass?"_ _

__Fernando grunts loudly and straightens up. " _I. Don't. Know._ It doesn't matter how many times you keep asking me that, Xabi, I don't know the answer. It never happened before."_ _

__"So you have to think of what was different this time. There must've been something."_ _

___There is_ , he thinks, but Fernando doesn't dare to say it out loud. There's Sergio and all the time they spend together and the fact he was actually up all night shagging his _boyfriend_ and barely had two full hours of sleep before he had to leave for his appointment with Zlatan. He was _exhausted_ and in no condition whatsoever to see a client. The only reason he didn't cancel was because Zlatan was his only client in four days and Xabi would kill him if he so much as dared to drop someone with just a couple of hours’ notice._ _

__But how is he supposed to explain all that without getting murdered?_ _

__"You know, it's a serious offense to fall asleep during work hours, regardless of what you do," Xabi starts again when he doesn't reply. He is aware that his silence only makes him look guiltier, but he's got no clue if there's anything that wouldn't at this point. He fucked up, it's as simples as that. "But when what you do is _paid sex_ , it's kind of _vital_ that you stay awake. I'd say it's the most basic part of the whole process. If any of your clients were interested in fucking a motionless body, they would buy a doll, not pay a small fortune for one lame hour with you."_ _

__Fernando feels his blood boiling up inside his veins. Not at Xabi, though; it's himself he's angry with here. Xabi's absolutely right. How could he let things get this far? How could he lose control like this? It's his career at stake, something he worked so fucking hard for._ _

__He pats his pockets and takes out three hundred pounds, which he throws on Xabi's desk. "Here."_ _

__"What is this?"_ _

__"My tip."_ _

__"He _paid_ you?"_ _

__"Not entirely. Just the tip. I offered to do it for free afterwards. As a compensation. He was so pissed... We fucked three times, it was insane. So he didn't pay, but he gave me that. It's not much, but..."_ _

__Xabi sighs. "That money is yours." He pushes the money back to Fernando. "One round of sex with Zlatan is hard enough. I think you deserve it."_ _

__"My ass agrees with you," he says, nodding his head as he gladly takes the money back. Not that three hundred pounds would've meant a lot for Xabi. It probably doesn't pay for his haircut. But it was a sign of good faith, anyway._ _

__"Fernando..." Xabi slumps back against his chair and eyes Fernando differently. It's not disbelief anymore, it's... Worry? Fernando doesn't think he's ever seen that look on the other man before. He seems dead serious, but not in the Imma-fire-your-ass way. "What's going on with you?"_ _

__"Nothing, Xabi. I'm just tired."_ _

__Xabi narrows his eyes just a tiny bit more, and it's enough to send a shiver up is spine. "Tired of what?"_ _

__"I don't know," Fernando shrugs, nervously, but managing, somehow, to keep his voice civil. Every time Xabi comes close to finding out about Sergio, Fernando goes cold. "I didn't sleep well last night, then I had to get up early... And that bed was _so_ soft..." Well, at least that part is true. The bed really was amazing._ _

__Xabi pinches the bridge of his nose, shuts his eyes for a second. "First you start turning down half of your clients. And now this? You are going to fuck me up, Fernando."_ _

__"That has never happened before, Xabi. It was just this once."_ _

__"Oh, you think Zlatan is not going to remember it in the future because it was _just_ this once? You honestly don't think this is going to be the most memorable moment he's had with you? That every time he thinks of you, this won't be the first thing to spring to his mind?"_ _

__"I didn't say -"_ _

__"Yeah, you fucking didn't. I've been doing this for almost ten years and this is the first time I've ever heard of a whore who sleeps in the middle of sex. Zlatan's already called asking for someone else."_ _

__"Shit," Fernando exhales._ _

__"Yes, exactly. Shit. He also said I should _stop wearing out my prostitutes_. Wearing out! I let you fucking pick your clients and I it still somehow my fault that you fuck things up!"_ _

__"I'm sorry."_ _

__"That's the least you can be." Xabi pauses and bites his lower lip pensively. Then, after a beat, he says, "Fernando... Is there anything going on that I should know of?"_ _

__"No," he hurries to answer. "What could there be?"_ _

__"I want you to tell me."_ _

__"There's nothing going on, Xabi."_ _

__"If there is -"_ _

__"There _isn't_ ," he states emphatically._ _

__" - I just want you to know that you can tell me," Xabi completes his sentence. "I'm on your side, Fernando. For now, anyway. Sleep in one of my customers’ beds again and I may change my mind."_ _

__That’s Xabi Alonso for you. His ability to go from mama bear to Michael Corleone in one second is uncanny._ _

__Fernando decides not to annoy Xabi any further. Today he really is in the wrong and he should consider himself lucky Xabi seems to be willing to let him go with just a warning. "It won't happen again."_ _

__"Let's hope it doesn't. It's bad for me, but even worse for you. Nobody wants a whore who doesn't give a shit or doesn't feel anything."_ _

__"You know I'm not like that."_ _

__"Yes, but that's what Zlatan thinks now. And that man has a fucking big mouth."_ _

__"I think I gave him just enough to change his mind about that."_ _

__Xabi goes quiet for a moment, studying Fernando's expression with a suspicious gleam in his chocolate brown eyes. "That's what I'm hoping for."_ _

__x-x-x_ _

__The flat is completely quiet when he finally gets home, which is great, because the last thing Fernando needs right now is for Sergio to have decided to pop in. Silence can be such a blessing sometimes. He drops down in bed like a corpse. The part of him that isn't either completely exhausted or numb from his session with Zlatan has been swamped with embarrassment. He worked so hard to build a reputation and it could've all gone away in a stupid ten minute nap._ _

__Clients falling asleep is not such a rare happening. It hasn't happened to Fernando - thanks very much - but he's heard about it countless times. But an escort who falls asleep? That's new. If it had been with anybody else and if it wasn't a job, it would be terrible already. But not only did it happen with a paying costumer, but one with an ego the size of Zlatan's... Utter, utter disaster._ _

__Not even having Zlatan fuck him raw was enough to get the guy to forgive him. It's not that Zlatan was amongst his favorite or most generous clients, far from that. He is actually a bit annoying - more than annoying, really. Fernando considered dropping him a few times, but was talked out of it by Xabi's speech on the importance of having celebrities (or football players, in this case) in your portfolio. The whole referring to himself in the third person and slapping his own chest screaming 'ZLATAN!' while they were having sex was always too off-putting in Fernando's opinion. But still... It should've been _him_ dropping the client, not the other way around. It's so frustrating to know that there is someone out there actually unhappy about his services - and rightly so! Fernando just _cannot_ believe he did that._ _

__His cell phone sparks to life on the nightstand, Sergio's name flashing bright on the screen._ _

__Fernando stifles a yawn, considers answering for two full seconds and then opts to ignore the call._ _

__The whole thing with Zlatan was a slap in the face. It's not a matter of _if_ anymore; he has allowed Sergio to come before his job. And the consequences are already starting to show._ _

__He's not mad at Sergio, not exactly, but it _is_ his fault. All their time together is making everything else seem gloomy and boring in comparison. It's too easy to be lured into Sergio's promise of a regular-ish life and a beautiful love story. It's even easier to get carried away and forget that there is no such thing as happily ever after. _ _

__How long until Sergio gets sick of him? How long until he realizes he wants more than just a bit of fun with a whore and decides to leave Fernando for a more sophisticated and less problematic relationship with someone who doesn't sell sex for a living, like Robin did with Cesc? Those are the questions hanging above Fernando's head. This is something that could potentially give him the happiest time of his life, but it could also end his career and crush his heart when it finally comes to an end. And whilst the thought makes Fernando terribly restless, he knows he needs to get his shit together._ _

__Work before Sergio. Clients before fun. That’s how it should be. He's literally worked his ass off to make it this far. No more 'just another ten minutes, I swear', or 'why don't I cook you some pancakes before you go?', or 'do you want me to join you in the shower?', or even 'why don't I come over tonight, just for a little kiss?'. No more wearing himself out by spending so much time with Sergio, pleasing Sergio, making him smile, making him happy, making him come... They'll be together when there's time for that, if there's time. Fernando's priority needs to be pleasing the people who pay him and who will be around long after Sergio's done fooling around with an escort._ _

__That's decided then. It's not an easy call, but it's the only possible one he can make, the only _reasonable_ call. Fernando can't risk everything for a little passion. It's affecting his business, and his business is fucking sacred. _ _

__That's what he's telling himself, anyway. His heart feels heavy, like a million pounds of stone; his eyes are burning with the tears that are threatening to come. He knows this is step one towards making that fucking _choice_ Cesc spoke about. More importantly, he knows it will hurt Sergio, and it tears him apart already to do it. But there are other things to be taken under consideration, things that have to be more important than a fleeting passion. It's obvious that there's only one path to take here and that's not Sergio._ _

__He’s calling again. Ignoring the second call is even harder than the first one. It sends a pang right through him to slide his finger across the cell phone screen. It's not fucking easy. But it has to be done. There needs to be some boundaries._ _

__"I'm sorry," he whispers to the phone, and hopes for the best._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I've reached that point in the story where things are finally starting to turn towards the endings. So I guess I'd really like to hear what you guys have to say! What do you think of the story so far and what would you like to see happening in the next few chapters? I had a reaction from _crazychelseablue_ that was frankly a little unexpected! Hahaha So I'm really curious as to what you guys think.
> 
> But of course, any feedback is always welcome, even if it's to say you hate it. Hope the next chapters comes out quicker than this one!


	8. Lord Finnan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I am so SO sorry for how long it took me to update. I never planned on having an almost three months gap, but it happened. I worked really hard on the chapter, but I hated it so much that I couldn't post it, and then I decided I just can't make it any better than this. I guess I'm just not feeling very creative. :( So I apologize for the delay and also because it's not such a good chapter after all.
> 
> Secondly, a big, big thank you do **crazychelseablue** , who, as always, has given me a hand putting this baby in shape. Still, you should have in mind (because you might have forgotten) that English is not my first language, so you still might come across mistakes here and there.
> 
> Lastly, your feedback is so, so, so much appreciated! Please let me know what you think, what you feel, what you expect, etc. I'm trying to shape up the finale and your thoughts are all very useful! You have no idea how much I've tinkered with the story after reading what you guys say.

Lord Finnan is an actual lord. Like, real blue blood aristocracy. The type that lives in a castle and gets invited to the Queen's tea parties.

That's mental, right?

Lord Stephen George Finnan - such a majestic name - is an Earl. His father is a Duke of something back in Ireland. When the old man dies, Lord Finnan will inherit the title and the job of administrating thousands and thousands of acres of land. For now, though, he is just enjoying life as someone whose birth right to an endless pit of money will never run out. It must be nice to be born rich for absolutely no reason other than a family name. 

The first time they met, Fernando was star-struck. Being in the presence of a nobleman made him nervous. He'd seen all those movies and read all those stories and he knew there were certain formalities you were supposed to follow; he just had absolutely no idea what those were. So he just stared, very shaky, very confused, slightly stupid, and said, "I have no idea how I'm supposed to call you. Sir. My Lord. Your highness?"

Lord Finnan laughed wholeheartedly, shook his head and said, "Just call me Finns, yeah?"

And that was all it took for Fernando to fall in love with him. Not _love_ love, not exactly. Professional love. Business-driven adoration. Fucking nobility is not only cool, it's also the highest any escort can ever climb in the social food chain. Fernando appreciates just how lucky he is; aristocracy doesn't just walk into a whore's room any day. Those people are like little baby dears; at the slightest hint of scandal, they run away and you never see the back of them again. It takes a lot to earn their trust. A lot of that was the result of Xabi's work, truth be told. His good reputation amongst the high society circles and a lot of assurances built most of the bridge, but it is Fernando and Fernando alone who manages to keep him coming back all this time. He takes pride in that, yes. 

However, Lord Finnan hasn't reached the very top of Fernando's list _only_ because of his nobility title. On top of that, he's also a very nice guy, incredibly down to earth, for someone with his upbringing, not to mention hot. Those are not attributes to be underestimated in this line of business. It's a lot easier to come across horrible jackasses with illegal sources of money than pleasant, attractive men with legitimate wealth.

But, as with most things in life, there are disadvantages as well. For instance, the two of them can never risk meeting in the city, were blood-thirsty paparazzi are all over the place, just dying for a bit of juicy gossip. A married Earl having mysterious encounters with an escort would be a feast - and also, probably, the end of Fernando's career. The press would be on his feet to find out what other hot-shot figures he has on his menu, which would make all the important clients drop him immediately. Discretion is the most important part of his job. If he can't offer absolute secrecy to his customers, then he's got nothing. Might as well go back to the streets. 

All that means Fernando has to endure a two hours’ drive to a chalet just outside of London every time Finns is in town. The Earl and the Countess travel to London every now and again for what he calls 'the social season' - two or three months a year wherein every single important person in the European society gather for dinners, balls and general self-congratulatory meetings. Or that's the official excuse, anyway. "It's really all about having sex, getting drunk on really expensive booze and gossiping. Mostly gossiping, though. It would be more interesting if it were more about the first two."

By the way he talks about it, Finns doesn't seem to be the type to keep his expectations high for the social season, but the Countess is all about it, so he makes an extended effort on her behalf. They travel down to England together, but while she goes to the parties, he arranges to do other stuff around London. One of which is meeting with Fernando. He leaves his wife with her pompous friends under the excuse that he'll retreat into a cloud of smoke for brandy with the lads and takes the highway to the chalet instead. The only one who's got any clue on what really happens is his personal assistant, a towering and extremely lively Finn named Sami. He's the one in charge of the task of picking Fernando up somewhere in the city and driving him to his employer.

Lord Finnan always has the house looking impeccable for when Fernando arrives - but makes sure to send all his employees away so that there are no witnesses. 

"Don't they know?" Fernando asked once. "I mean... It's a little suspicious, don't you think? They all know you're married, but you never come here with your wife. You have them get the house spotless and then ask them to leave... I'd know, if I worked for you."

Finns just smiled. "Of course they know. Sami hears them talk. They think I have a mistress," he finished with a wink.

It's best that they think he has a female lover than they get to find out their boss is hiring a high-class male prostitute to fuck him, right?

Face plastered all over social columns, a retired military father who's also a Duke, lots of noble expectations to be inherited alongside the noble title... It must not be very easy to be openly gay when you come from that sort of background. His lordship's family probably put a lot of pressure on him to make a good marriage, have kids and pave the way for the future generations of lucky noble bastards to come. Parading about with his gorgeous wife is all part of the decorum. There's something very sad about having to live an entire life pretending to be something that you're not. Fernando can sympathize with that sort of drama. It's basically what his life is all about as well, albeit in a completely different fashion. 

The thing about Lord Finnan, though, probably the one thing Fernando likes the most about him (even more so than his title) is that his noble background is not the only thing that makes him a remarkably unique client.

Stephen George Finnan, Earl of Offaly, is also into bdsm.

It just makes everything twice as mind-blowing. Fernando's used to seeing people's hidden layers - that's basically why anyone hires him in the first place. Rich, important men don't need to pay to have sex with attractive people. All they have to do is snap their fingers. That's not why anyone resorts to luxury escorts. First and foremost, what they seek when they come to Xabi's office is someone - obviously attractive and somewhat refined- with whom they can freely express desires and aspects of their personalities that, for one reason or another, they don't get to expose anywhere else, with anyone else. Most of them have issues with their own sexuality, either because they haven't come to terms with it completely, or because, for one reason or another, they cannot be fully open about it; some of them have fetishes they'd rather not tell their significant others, out of shame or simply because they'd never be into it; some of them are just plain insecure, afraid of criticism and unsure of their own abilities as lovers, all they want is someone who's getting paid to tell them they're amazing and act like it, even if it's not true; some of them are just curious. 

But Finns doesn't exactly fit into any of those categories. Fernando doesn't know how much his wife knows, maybe she's aware that her husband is gay and they're only married to keep appearances or whatever. That wouldn't be the first time. In a way, he is the guy with the weird fetishes who needs to keep it behind closed doors. The thing is, though, he's not just _anyone_. He's a _Lord_. Nobody ever thinks of a member of a royal house being into bdsm. 

It's outrageously hot that Fernando's probably the one person in the world - apart from Sami, of course - who's in on the fact that Lord Finnan disguises a very naughty boy behind all those warm smiles and graceful manners. That's as good a turn on as anything can be.

Once they're done with the small talk and tea - because, apparently, Finns was taught since his very early days that it is an awful rudeness not to offer tea to a guest, even if said guest is prostitute whose time is being paid for - , Lord Finnan leads the way through this little door at the back of the kitchen, past the servants' facilities, almost unnoticeable. It takes them through a narrow corridor with a series of more heavily locked doors that eventually ends at _The Room_ , as his lordship calls it. It used to be a bunker, during the War. Now it's his sexland. Fernando can see how his ancestors would probably have a thing or two to say about the ways of the family's new generation.

The Room is basically a door into the deepest pits of Lord Finnan's soul. The most well-kept secret of his life. It looks intimidating at first, and more than a tad creepy as well, like a torture chamber. But it grows on you after a while; now Fernando thinks of this room as _fun_. In here, Finns keeps all his apparatus. Absolutely anything you can think of to use as means of sexually tormenting someone, Finns' got it. It's a collection fit for a king, indeed.

Fernando, he's not exactly into that sort of stuff. It's fun, all right. But if it was just him, in his private life, he wouldn't do it. As a matter of fact, he's never done it with anyone else other than clients. It doesn't make him particularly aroused or anything. But he has to admit that he enjoys the taste of dominating a distant cousin of the Queen of England, unhealthily so. Talk about empowerment. From the streets of Madrid to the torture chamber of a nobleman, and holding a whip. That's quite an achievement.

There's a dressing room within the room where Fernando goes to change. Finns enjoys the transformation. Once he walks out of that room wearing whatever Lord Finnan tells him to, game's on. They're no longer Fernando and Stephen. They're El Niño and his sub. 

There are tons of dressing options, but sometimes Finns shows up with new stuff. It might be a red catsuit that leaves nothing but Fernando's ass bare or a pair of high-heeled boots and an apron (which, frankly, Fernando doesn't think he does a lot of justice to; his body was just not built to look good in heels and pantyhose, but to each their own).

Today, Finns seems to be in the mood for classics. Just leather briefs - incredibly, ridiculously tight, yes, but still. It can really hurt to get fully hard inside one of those, but it's nothing unmanageable. And he can _definitely_ work the tight underwear, all right. 

For Finns, however, things are a bit different. He's just there to get abused, so no need for attires. He simply shrugs off his robe and all Fernando has to do is tie him up. 

There's always a bit of kissing first, before they get down to the real thing. Because he knows Finns will like it, Fernando makes it rough - he bites on his lips, grabs his sides, scratches his back all over, slaps his ass. He can almost feel the man melting in his arms, dissolving into a puddle of sheer pleasure as he writhes and moans.

That sends a tingly sensation down to Fernando's lower parts. This is, after all, an Earl that he's about to fuck right here. 

The tying up part also depends on Finns' mood. And on how much time he has to make the marks disappear before he needs to go back. They have a bed and several different options. Today, he's feeling like hanging from the ceiling. It must be awfully uncomfortable, in Fernando's opinion, but who is he to argue? He's not the one on the receiving end after all; if he were, there would certainly be limits, and this hook on the ceiling would be completely off it.

He puts a rope through it and ties the Earl's hands behind his back. Then he ties another rope around his waist and connects it to the rope on his hands, so that his arms can't be hanging above his head. The hook is so high up he can barely touch the ground, so he's just leaning forward as though he's about to fall, tiptoeing around to keep his balance. Just to make it all the more difficult, Fernando ties his feet together as well. The man groans in pain, but his cock says he's enjoying it.

Last but not least, Fernando puts a blindfold around his eyes. That part is always a shame because he really likes Finns' eyes - he can't tell whether they're green or blue or grey, it's like it keeps changing color. It's fascinating to watch his deep eyes as they glow with arousal. Again, blindfolds, not Fernando's favored choice. But, even though he's the one doing the fucking and the spanking and all that, there's only so much a Lord will allow him to decide. This is, after all, still his fantasy - and, most importantly, still his money. 

Fernando holds his chin up, rubs his thumb against his lordship's lower lip as he tries desperately to suck on Fernando's finger. "You have such a pretty mouth," he says. "Do you know what? Those lips of yours... It's like you were born to wrap them around a cock." Finns moans. "You like that, don't you? You _love_ sucking on a big, fat cock..."

"Yes, yes, _yes_!" he cries.

Fernando smiles. "I think you have a real talent for this," he continues. "You would make such a great whore... Maybe you should think about it. Being a Lord is not really what you are - underneath all that aristocracy bullshit you're nothing but a little whore."

"Yes! I'm a whore!"

Fernando slaps his face with the back of his hand and walks away, leaving the lord whimpering in despair. Choosing which instrument to use is always the hardest part. There are just so many... Finns loves a good spanking, but that's not something they get to do every time they meet. And understandably so - it can't be easy to explain to his wife how he suddenly gets all bruised up. Finns always announces beforehand when it's Spanking Time - usually when he can come up with an excuse for being in a rugby or a lacrosse match. Not the case today. 

Fernando's eyes fall upon a shiny silver plug he hasn't seen before. "Ah, I see we have new toys here..." he says, inspecting the plug. It's large and feels really cool to the touch. He tests the remote control - and _damn_ , that thing vibrates like a fucking earthquake. For a moment there he wonders how safe it is to actually use it in a human being. But then he remembers who he's dealing with and, well. "I think I've found it," he announces.

"I have something here that I think is going to make you come so hard your neighbors might hear you scream." Finns mumbles a bunch of incoherent words between 'yes' and 'please' and 'fuck me', launching forward as Fernando approaches him to rub the side of his face against his crotch. "I think we need to do something to keep you from coming too fast..."

The Spaniard goes through the drawer with the world's largest collection of cock rings, probably - there's one for every mood, in every color, material and shape. Fernando chooses a particularly tight rubber one. It feels painful to put it on in the state Finns is, but the man seems to be in heaven as he squirms under his ministrations. 

"I'm going to fuck you," he says, slapping his lordship's pale ass and watching as the reddened shape of his fingers gets darker, like a stamp. "And then you're going to suck me with that beautiful mouth of yours and you're not going to come until I say you can, do you understand?" Finns just moans. Fernando hits him harder. "Answer me when I speak to you! Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir! Yes!"

Fernando smiles proudly to himself. Being called a _sir_ by an Earl never gets old. He loves it so much that he gets to be bossy for a change with Finns; it's such a rare part to get in this business. Usually, clients want to do the fucking, to feel like they're the masters of the universe sodomizing a pretty boy who just can't get enough of their magical dicks. Lord Finnan, who actually has a birth right to boss people around all day, just wants to be turned into a whore for a couple of hours. There's something so amazingly beautiful in that irony that it's hard to describe it. 

The Spaniard pulls down the leather briefs and breathes out in relief as his cock is finally free from all that tightness. He slips on the condom and pulls the lord's ass towards him. "I want to hear you scream," he hisses before penetrating the other man all at once, no preparations whatsoever.

And scream Finns does. With each thrust, the Earl writhes, restrained by all the ropes. Fernando pushes forward with all the strength he can muster - and it took him a while to finally be able to do this without thinking he was killing the poor man; it was Finns himself who told him the stronger, the better. It does feel good, but there's still something in Fernando's head that keeps him from going as far as he probably could. It's too much like raping someone, he thinks, and he knows only too well what it feels like to be on the receiving end of this type of treatment to fully appreciate it. But again - he's getting paid to do exactly just that, so who is he to question?

He removes his cock almost completely before thrusting back again, hitting lord Finnan's sweet spot every single time, until he feels he's getting too close to the edge. It's time to put the plug to test.

Fernando spits on the thing before sticking it inside Finns' ass until it's completely in. His lordship groans, shifting uncomfortably, probably at how cold it feels at first. Fernando moves around the man and holds his chin up again. "Now you're going to suck me," he explains. "And I'm going to play with this and see how far I can take you."

Finns nods desperately, already opening his mouth to try and catch Fernando's cock between his lips. Fernando removes the condom and rubs his dick, all wet in pre-come, against the other man's flushed cheeks, draws a line on his mouth with the head, before pushing it inside his mouth. 

That man can suck cock like a pro. He gives a hell of a blow-job, so this part is one Fernando holds very dear. It's not every day he gets to have his cock sucked, mostly his clients want him to give them head. There's a lot of power play and superiority complexes involved in what he does. And it's not just anybody blowing him either; it's a cock-hungry noble bastard with a lot of dexterity getting his mouth full.

Fernando grabs him by his hair and fucks the man's face mercilessly before turning on the vibration on the butt plug. And what happens next is just... It's scary in the same proportion that it is arousing. Finns screams louder than he's ever heard, wriggling his ass up in the air, with a cock in his mouth like he doesn't know what part is making him happier or more desperate or both. He might be having the best time he's ever had in his life or a stroke, it's hard to tell, but Fernando guesses that that's exactly the point of all this. What turns him on in this type of role playing is to be dangerously treading that fine line between absolute bliss and maddening discomfort.

Fernando comes in his mouth and all over his face and watches in pure delight as the earl shouts and swallows and moans and tries to breathe, all at the same time. He's completely exhausted, his wrists and waist are turning purple where the rope is holding him and Fernando's frankly starting to panic a little, but he keeps going for a while longer, fucking the guy's mouth until his cock starts softening and Finns can't really keep his head up anymore.

He moves around him and touches the poor man's dick. His balls are so hard it's like they're going to explode. This must be painful like fuck. "Let's see how hard you can come now," he says as he removes the ring as gently as he can manage and puts the plug to work once more as he uses his hand to milk Finns off. He doesn't last another ten seconds. His groan is even louder as he comes, hard and long and it lasts for an eternity. His entire body going stiff as though he's doing it with every ounce of strength still left in him. 

When he's done, he just collapses, breath so ragged it's like the oxygen has run out. Fernando unties him and the man falls down on the floor like a sack of bones and flesh, totally undone. He paints a beautiful picture, though, all those tight muscles and fair skin, sweaty and smeared in come, his full lips swollen and red from sucking too hard. Give Fernando another ten minutes and he can fuck the man all over again. 

He removes the eyefold and sits next to the Lord, pulling him closer to rest his head on his thighs.

"You were a good boy," he says, caressing Finns' sweat-clampered hair. "You were a very good boy today..."

Finns opens his eyes and looks up at him. They're a very light shade of blue now, glittery with pleasure in the afterglow. He smiles in a manner that would be almost sheepish if they hadn't done what they just did. "Thank you," he says, as politely as ever, back in his lordship skin.

"You're welcome," Fernando says, leaning over to kiss his temple. "You're _very_ welcome."

x-x-x

Fernando pays a small fortune to the taxi driver and steps out of the car into the pouring rain. He checks his watch again, just to remind himself of how fucked he really is. That's three-hours-and-fifteen-minutes-late fucked, he verifies, as a weary sigh escapes his lips to add pain to his droopy shoulders.

The beautiful entrance to Sergio's building is right before him, all lit-up in a golden hue that makes it shine like a gate to heaven, the light cutting through the silver curtain of water falling from the skies. A haven of warmth and light in this dark, cold London night. Except it feels like anything but. 

Fernando's only faintly aware that he's getting soaked. Wrapping the coat tighter around his body doesn't really do much, but he doesn't mind; his head is miles away. Although _miles_ is not exactly accurate: his mind is only a few feet away, inside that building, somewhere on the second floor. Still, not out here, under the rain, with the rest of him. Right now, the prospect of freezing his ass off outside doesn't seem as bad as walking in.

There are certainly hundreds, maybe thousands of people late for commitments right this moment all around London, all for the same reason. It's virtually impossible to be anywhere on time in this kind of weather. And Lord Finnan's chalet just happens to be far away from the city center. There isn't really anything to be done in that regard; Finns' schedule is pretty tight, he always manages to squeeze Fernando in between hundreds of social events, it's not like he can just turn the man down. He comes down to London, he finds that tiny window that allows them to meet and he gives Xabi a call. It's all very short notice, but it works. It has always been like this. And the chalet is their place. It's safe, foolproof and paparazzi-free. Finns is almost a celebrity, he can't just parade around London and not expect to be seen. What was Fernando supposed to do? Tell him they'd have to get a hotel room in central London because he had other commitments? The guy is a bloody _lord_. It's screwed up to tell any client that he's not headline for you, but it's just insane to do it when it's a nobleman you're talking about. Hell, Xabi would probably get Fernando admitted to a psychiatric ward if he did that. So it had to happen today and it had to be at the chalet. And it would all still be perfectly fine, if it weren't for this horrible weather. That's what really screwed everything up. Not Finns, not the chalet - the horrible, merciless rain. 

Not that Sergio will give a shit about the logic of things, anyway. No, Sergio will argue that _he_ , not Finns, should've been the top priority of the day. That Fernando should've just told his client that he already had something else planned and they'd have to reschedule. Sergio doesn't understand the nuance of being some rich bastard's favorite whore. He doesn't even try to.

If he thought he could get away with it, Fernando would've rescheduled with Sergio. But that ceased being an option considering he's been doing nothing but rescheduling with Sergio lately - that when he doesn't simply cancel on him. He wasn't really being asked on a date, he was given an ultimatum - either you show up or. Sergio didn't say or what, but it's easy to guess. So Fernando didn't argue, not even when Lord Finnan called a few hours later. In hindsight, that was probably not a very smart choice. Maybe he should've taken a risk and negotiated another date. Because now he's three hours and sixteen minutes late and there's simply no way Sergio won't go mental on him. 

Things have taken a turn for the worst with the two of them recently. Whenever they do meet, there's always a fight happening. Nine times out of ten, the theme of their argument is how Fernando has become a shitty boyfriend in the space of a little over a month and for no apparent reason. And, well... He can't exactly deny that. 

Priorities changed in Fernando's life since the Zlatangate. Or rather: priorities have not changed in his heart, but they have in his head. His life has become a daily battle between _reason_ \- he has to take his work more seriously, he needs to take back all the clients he neglected in favor of more quality time with Sergio, career must come before a boyfriend who'll likely walk away at any minute now - and _emotions_ \- he is in love with Sergio Ramos and staying away from him is turning out to be a lot harder than Fernando had predicted. That embarrassing moment with Zlatan is proof that Fernando's got a million and one reasons to stay away from Sergio, as opposed to just one not to: love.

Simply putting it, it's a nightmare. 

It's entirely possible that the reason why Sergio keeps getting so upset about everything, why he can't understand what's happening to them, is because Fernando never gave him any clues, never shed even a little bit of light onto the sudden changes in their dynamics. It's possible that all he has to do is open his mouth and say it - admit that he was neglecting almost all his clients; that Xabi was getting pissed at him and, regardless of how much of a prima dona he is, Fernando owes him a lot; that he's scared of how fast they're moving; that he panics easily in the face of things he cannot control; that there's way too many people who depend on him and he can't risk losing everything he worked so hard for all his life for something that offers him so little assurance; that he's fallen in love and doesn't know what to do with himself; that being an escort is just who he is, it's all he's ever known - and then wait. Just one great dump of emotions, one avalanche of guilt and honesty, all mashed into one. Pour his heart out to Sergio and see what happens. The ball would be in his court and whatever happened afterwards, would be on Sergio, not him.

But theory is one thing, reality is a lot different. Usually, a lot harder too. And the truth is Fernando doesn't know how to tackle any of this. He wouldn't even know where to start. He's not good with any of that - relationships, feelings, _people_. All he's got is wishful thinking, really; he's left Sergio in the dark and he keeps on hoping for the best, even though that's impossible. It's not only naive and borderline stupid, it's also setting up a ticking bomb. Sooner or later it's all gonna blow up in his face and everyone's going to get hurt.

So that brings him back to here and now: almost four hours late to a date he _swore to God_ he wouldn't cancel. Fernando dreads his encounter with Sergio as much as he misses his boyfriend. He doesn't want to hurt him again, but he is most definitely not looking forward to yet another fight. There's always the risk that the next argument will be their last one. That tonight will be the night when he finds out what comes after 'or'.

But there's a limit to how much of a coward a person can be, and Fernando feels like this is his. He can't come all the way here just to chicken out, go back to his flat and wait for Sergio to break up with him through voice mail or something. Whatever happens, he has to take it on the chin. He made his choices, right? Now he has to face the consequences. If Sergio doesn't want him anymore, then so be it. If he does... Well, thank God. They'll survive another night.

Fernando takes a deep breath, braces himself for the worst and goes in.

He stops by a huge mirror in the main hall to inspect the damage and realizes he looks like a stray dog who found his way in by accident. With a dejected sigh, he tries to fix his hair a little, styling it with his fingers, combing to one side and then the next before deciding that it's hopeless either way. 

As he takes the elevator, Fernando considers all the possibilities awaiting him. Sergio might not open the door at all. Or maybe he will open, but only to have the pleasure of slamming it shut in his face. Maybe he'll have something to say before kicking him out - something along the lines of 'I don't know why I even bothered with you. Just get the fuck out and don't come back'. 

Of course, there's also the chance that this time will be exactly like all the ones before: Sergio will be pissed out of his mind, but he'll let Fernando in anyway, he'll yell a few hurtful things, accuse Fernando of the utmost negligence, Fernando will apologize - and mean it, because he always does - and they'll start sucking face like their very existences depend on it because, truth be told, they miss each other.

Preparing for the worst possible outcome, though, means that if he gets anything better than that, however barely, it will already be a small win. So that's exactly what Fernando does. There's a pause before he rings the bell; he tries to collect himself, takes a deep breath, fixes his hair again.

What happens next, however, kind of changes everything and sends all his careful preparation running down the drain. From all the possibilities Fernando had considered, that's the one that slipped his mind - although, come to think of it, he shouldn't be so surprised.

It's not Sergio who answers the door.

The first thing Fernando notices about the man who's standing where Sergio was supposed to be is that he's wearing Armani briefs, which is always a sign of good taste, if anything. The second is that he has the most impressive set of abs Fernando's ever laid eyes on, which is saying a lot, considering the amount of naked men he's seen in his life. The reason why he's able to notice all this is because the man is, quite conveniently, not wearing a shirt. He's got perfectly tanned skin and perfectly trimmed eyebrows and perfectly shiny hair. It's like this shirtless, low-waisted jeans person just leapt out of an underwear catalogue just to step in as butler for Sergio. He wonders if attractive people have been answering Sergio's door - like it's an everyday thing, like they do it all the time - for long now, and if it's just a coincidence he never happened to run into any of them before.

"Can I help you?" the man asks, half bored, half impatient, giving Fernando a good once over. They're roughly the same height, but Fernando feels suddenly small under his scrutiny. His shoulders are not as broad, his abs - which he had always been so proud of - are not nearly as well defined, his hair looks a royal mess all wet and plastered to his head and his face is all pink from the cold. This is definitely not the best moment to come face to face with a _rival_ , especially one who looks like a male model. 

So this is what it feels like to find out your partner has been doing a prostitute who's much hotter than you are. Up until now, Fernando had always been very straightforward about the jealous partners who confronted him upon finding out their significant others had been seeing someone else - in that case, him. "It's not my fault. I didn't go looking for him, he came to me. Quite honestly, if he had what he wants at home, he wouldn't be paying me, so that's something for you to discuss with him, not me." Sounds harsh, but there's no lie whatsoever in that. Besides, betrayed people can be annoying as hell, and that's the fastest way to get rid of them, go straight to where it hurts more. Now, though... For the first time, Fernando is getting a taste of what it's like to be the person on the other side. And boy, is it bitter... 

"Sergio," is all his brain comes up with, partially paralyzed by all the mental images of just what this man and his boyfriend could've been up to inside.

"He's not available right now," the stranger calmly answers. " But if you have a message, I can deliver."

 _But if you have a message, I can deliver_. Something about the sheer cheekiness of that sentence, spoken too naturally, as though that's the obvious course of things - like _he_ is the boyfriend and Fernando is some clingy flame who doesn't know when to leave - sparkles something into life inside of the Spaniard. Some sort of primal instinct kicks in all of a sudden. The initial shock dissipates as Fernando starts to get truly riled up at that hot, shirtless man's attitude, dismissing his presence like he's ended up here by accident, like he's just _anybody_. Fernando pulls a face that says he's deeply offended and borderline mortified. 

He's about to reply something awfully rude when Sergio's voice cuts him off from the inside. "Cris? Who is it?"

"No one," _Cris_ says, turning his face slightly towards the inside of the apartment, a simple gesture that makes Fernando realize how absolutely everything about this is outrageous. _Cris_ is on the _inside_ of Sergio's place while he is being kept _outside_ , waiting for an invitation. That's just - it's ridiculous.

Fernando draws the air in like a dragon about to spit fire. "What the fuc-"

Sergio interrupts again by pulling the door open wider and popping up next to his... _friend_.

Fernando's heart cracks a bit at the sight of Sergio just as half-naked and looking just gorgeous as the other man. He hadn't realized how much he'd hoped to see something, anything at all, to imply that this Cris person was alone in this, that maybe Sergio wasn't participating in whatever it is that he was doing that had to see him out of his clothes. But there is nothing except for more indication that they were being naked and beautiful together. It's a strange sort of sensation, one Fernando's not all used to, can't even define, exactly. But it feels a hell of a lot like a slap in the face.

The worst part is, they look so ridiculously good side by side, so _right_ , so very _Brangelina_ , the perfect picture of what a perfect couple should like, that Fernando seriously wants to throw up. And maybe hurt them both. And then cut his wrists open and bleed to death right there. Not necessarily in that order.

"I was handling it," the guy tells Sergio, visibly annoyed.

Sergio doesn't seem to listen, though. His eyes are trained on Fernando; it's hard to tell if he's angry or surprised to see him. Maybe both. 

Fernando, on the other hand, is very clearly crossed.

"Don't mind me," he says, voice stern and ice cold. "I was just leaving." He sends a death glare towards Sergio before stomping his way back to the elevator. 

"What the fuck did you tell him?" he hears Sergio snapping, and then his voice becomes louder behind Fernando. "Hey! Where are you going?"

"Away," Fernando shouts, stubbornly, pressing the elevator button with as much strength as he can, like that's gonna make it arrive any faster. 

"Why?" Sergio stops next to him, barefoot and shirtless and wet. He's got some nerve questioning Fernando in his current state of presentation. "What are you so pissed off about?"

Fernando's mouth opens and closes twenty times before he can turn his indignation into actual speech. " _What_ am I so pissed about? Are you fucking serious?" Fernando points a finger towards Sergio's door, where _Cris_ ' perfect figure can still be seen, watching the two of them with crossed arms and a bored expression, like he's just waiting for the quarrel to end so he and Sergio can get back to business. Fernando's not a fan of violence, he's never been. But right this second he can kind of start to see the appeal of punching someone on the nose just for the sake of ruining something pretty.

"I don't know what he said to you, but whatever it was, he was just being stupid," Sergio says.

"Stupid and half naked, you mean."

"Half-naked? He just took off his shirt."

Fernando lets out a hoarse single laugh that sounds completely inappropriate, then motions his hand towards Cris and turns back to the elevator. "I'm sorry for interrupting before he could get rid of the rest of his clothes."

"What the hell are trying to say?"

"Doesn't matter. I'll be out of your hair in a second. You should maybe talk to the building manager about this elevator, though. It's taking too fucking long." He nearly punches the button now.

"What are you -" Sergio stops, lets out a nervous grunt. "Well, I guess I should just be glad you showed up at all, right? That's a step up from the last two times."

Fernando bites on his lower lip, swallows back all his disagreement as to not lose the moral high ground in the argument, and just shakes his head instead.

"I honestly didn't think you'd show up anymore," Sergio continues.

"I'm happy you found a better way to spend your time."

"He's just a friend."

"Aren't they all?"

"What are you even on about? Cris is - You know what? I don't want to do this out in the hallway. Can we just go inside?"

"That's lovely. You, me and _Cris_?"

Huffing out in annoyance, Sergio walks back to the apartment and says something to Cris, who seems to argue back but gives up pretty fast. He disappears inside the flat and comes back out wearing a t-shirt and a jacket. He doesn't look nearly as attractive all dressed up as he does with his clothes off, Fernando bitterly notices. There's nothing really great about his face. His power is entirely concentrated on his abs. Fernando smiles shortly, just to himself; he's still better looking than _Cris_.

Sergio walks his friend to the elevator. The man stops by Fernando and sighs.

"Haven't you done enough already, Sese?" he asks. _Sese_. What kind of stupid fucking nickname is _Sese_? .

"Shut up, Cris. Just go."

"Call me when you get stood up again, will you?" 

The elevator door slides open - seriously, even Sergio's building is cheating on Fernando and responding better to _Cris_ \- and Sergio shoves him inside, gently.

Fernando waits another ten seconds before following Sergio back into the apartment. He's not entirely sure he wants to do this anymore. Not the talking, not the apologizing, not anything. Maybe not even the whole relationship thing. Fernando's never felt as riled up by anyone as he does right now about that Cris person. It took him five seconds to hate the guy with every fiber of his being. That has to be a record. It made his blood boil so intensely that he even forgot he's supposed to be shivering cold. That _never_ happens to Fernando Torres - not forgetting to be cold, but being so blindingly jealous of another human being. It leaves him slightly disoriented and with a burning desire to break things.

Eventually, though, he goes. He's already here, anyway. They might as well get this over and done with - besides, he doubts Sergio's just going to leave things at that.

As he walks in, he takes a good once over. Nothing screams _furious make out session_. At least not out here. Fernando prefers to stay away from the bedroom, though.

"So, _Sese_ ," he starts, all venom. "How long have you and _Cris_ been seeing each other?" 

Sergio glares at him, probably at the use of his - terrible, mind you - nickname, and then replies, "Years. We went to school together."

"Right."

"Stop being such a bitch about it. You never ask me anything about my life, you never answer when I ask about yours. That's why you've never heard of Cris before. We don't discuss our acquaintances, remember? That's your rule." 

The word 'bitch' doesn't bother Fernando nearly as much as it should, possibly because he feels just as bitter as Sergio right now. "Have you ever slept with him?" he questions.

Sergio stops and eyes Fernando very sternly before simply stating, "Yes."

Fernando is not really surprised. He could sense the sexual tension in the air. He's a master at catching that sort of thing. Sergio couldn't lie to him if he tried. But the confirmation still sends a jolt straight to his heart, makes him bristle. "Tonight, by any chance?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"It's an honest question."

"It's a stupid question."

"He's clearly still into you."

"And you concluded that from the whole two minutes you spent in his company, did you?"

"He was very rude to me. Obviously he didn't want me here. He would've shipped me off if you hadn't showed up."

"It doesn't mean anything."

"It means he likes you." Fernando pauses. "I suppose I should be flattered that he even knows I exist."

"Of course he fucking knows you exist. I don't lie to anyone about you. All my friends think I've lost it because I keep telling them I'm seeing someone but no one's ever met my boyfriend. And you know what? Lately, even I have started to ask myself if I'm making you up." 

"And where does Cris fit in?" Fernando asks, ignoring the critique and the resentment in Sergio's words. 

Sergio laughs ruefully. "Are you for serious? You, questioning the nature of my relationship with Cris? _You_?"

"What is that supposed to mean?" 

"Where the fuck were you?"

"Late."

"For me, certainly. But I'm sure there's some satisfied customer somewhere right now very satisfied with the service he got."

And there it is - they're stepping up their game today, it seems. Escalating to a whole new level of raging. This is the most offensive they've been towards each other. Granted, Fernando's being especially spiteful today, whereas normally he'd be soothing and apologetic. And all because of Cris.

As though reading his mind, Sergio adds, "Cris and I are just friends. He came over because I called him to whine about the fact I was stood up by you. _Again_." Fernando looks away from him for a moment. "He wanted to take me out for drinks, but we decided to take a walk as well and it started to rain, so we came back here. That's why he didn't have his shirt on. He got wet and I offered him a dry shirt. There hasn't been any sex going on in this flat for over ten days now. You can go sniffing around if you don't believe me."

"I didn't get here late on purpose," Fernando says, not as appeasing as he should, but still. "There was traffic and this stupid weather made everything worse. I would've been here on time if it weren't for that."

"Right."

"It's the truth."

"I didn't say you were lying."

"You sounded like it."

"I believe you. I'm just still pissed."

"There was nothing I could do to prevent it. I can't control the traffic and I can't control the weather."

"Bullshit," Sergio snaps. "There's a million other things you can control. A billion ways you could've prevented this. It's not the first, or the second or even the third time you've bailed on me. _Accidents_ just keep on happening. All the fucking time. You're either the unluckiest man in the world or just lying."

"That is really unfair, Sergio. My circumstances are not so simple and you know it. I can't help it if things get in the way when they're not supposed to."

" _Ten. Days._ We live in the same fucking city and I haven't seen you in _ten. days_. Not even that - I barely even spoke to you. And I could easily take that number up to over two weeks if I discount the booty call that our last encounter turned out to be. If you tell me that you've been so busy because of your _circumstances_ that you couldn't take one hour of one day to see me in two weeks, I'm honestly going to get worried about your physical integrity."

Fernando lets out a weary sigh. He should probably apologize now, but he's still not over _Cris_ , his pride won't allow it. "I have to work, Sergio. You know that."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better, how?"

"It's not. It's just the truth. There's no point arguing about that. I've been honest with you since day one. If there's one thing you can't accuse me of it's leaving you in the dark. You know what I do, you know how it works. Things were getting out of control between us and I was losing clients because I slacked off. This business I'm in - you slip just one tiny bit and soon enough there's someone else up there to take your place. I can't just disappear on my clients and on Xabi. It was bad enough that I barely showed up for months, now I have some catching up to do if I mean to keep going."

Sergio lets out a small, rueful laugh, shakes his head. "Are you even listening to yourself? Do you honestly think that all that you just said is in way righteous? What do you want me to say now? Thank you so much, Fernando. Is that what you expect from me? Gratefulness that you even bother showing up once in a full moon. I feel much better knowing that the whole city of London has scheduled an hour to fuck my boyfriend and that's why I can't. And I'm just supposed to understand and be cool with that. Maybe I should start calling Xabi again to see you. Would that solve the problem?"

Fernando feels a bit of a sting somewhere, totally speechless in the face of how much all of that is actually true. He tries to come up with a retort, but can't. It certainly gives him an idea of the amount of bitterness Sergio has been harboring inside, though. For a heartbeat there, he considers being honest about everything: his fears, his hopes, his hesitations. His true feelings. As quick as it comes, though, the will to do it goes away. It's a stupid idea, he tells himself. It won't fix anything and it will just mean more heartbreak once this is all over. Right now, Fernando would say they're not very far from the end.

There's a longer pause, full of subtext and ill-defined feelings. They can't quite stand to hold each other's gaze - well, Fernando can't, anyway, so he doesn't know if Sergio's staring at him or not. He watches his feet instead, little droplets of water still on his boots. He's still angry about Cris, he's still _jealous_ , but he is just. Speechless. And embarrassed. And unsure of what to say next.

"Are you trying to break up with me?" Sergio asks after a beat, breaking the ice.

Fernando shoots a look up at him. "What do you mean?" 

"All this - not having time for me anymore, cancelling our dates, standing me up, being all evasive all the time... It doesn't make any sense. We were fine one day and then the next, _poof_. Gone. I've tried to come up an explanation to why things have changed so drastically, but the only thing I can think is that you want to break up with me, but for some reason you can't get yourself to do it, so you're trying to get me to take the first step instead. Is that it?"

"No," Fernando is quick to deny, shaking his head for emphasis. Although - he can see how it seems like that's exactly what he's doing. Maybe it is. A little bit. There's probably a small portion of him thinking right now that if he pushes Sergio as far as he can and he gives in under the strain, then Fernando'll just have been right about him all along. Because that's exactly what he's been expecting from Sergio: for him to get fed up playing Pretty Woman with the hooker and then break up. He is sabotaging his own relationship because he is afraid it might turn out to be real, and he is afraid it might turn out not to be.

Deep in his heart, Fernando wants nothing more than to be proven wrong. Only he doesn't know how.

"Then what is going on, Fernando?" Sergio says in a near plea. "We had our problems, of course, but we were at least working things out, one step at a time. Then suddenly... I have no idea what happened. Did I do something wrong?"

Fernando takes another deep breath. "No. No, you didn't. It's just... I don't know how to do this. It's all very new to me. The very core of our situation goes against everything I've always believed in. This," Fernando motions his hand between the two of them. "It has never been on my menu. I never even imagined myself getting in this deep with anyone. I told you I'd screw things up, you said you didn't mind. It was bound to happen, sooner or later, and here it is. I am officially screwing things up."

"When you say it like that, it sounds almost like you're doing it on purpose."

"That's the only way I know how to do things, Sergio. You're like water and the entire rest of my life is oil. Doesn't matter how hard I try to get a balance between both things, it just doesn't mix up. I neglected everything for you in the beginning and you're right, we were fine, but the rest was falling apart. I can't have that happen. So I had to do something."

"And by something you mean relegate me to second place."

"I'm sorry that's how I'm making you feel."

"Don't you even care?" Sergio shrugs. "Are you just fine with that arrangement? Isn't there even a moment in your extremely populated days when you stop and think about me?"

Fernando stops, biting his lower lip and digging his nails so hard into his palms it might draw blood. This is the part where he says Sergio hasn't got a clue. It's actually the other way around: his days - and nights - are populated entirely by Sergio, and only momentarily replaced by other people - his clients, when he has to work, his family, when he calls them once or twice a week, Xabi, when he starts pestering him. It's hard to get anything done with his mind constantly obsessing about one person, but it was even harder the way it was before, with Sergio being all over the place, all the time. It was only too easy deciding to be around him instead of working.

Out of nothing and unexpectedly, Sergio Ramos and his big toothy smile expanded to fill Fernando's life completely. Some people would claim Fernando's a lucky fella, that most people go on entire lifetimes in search of a passion this strong and never find it. But some people probably don't know what it's like to be a high profile escort and everything it entails. Anyone who says it's not scary to suddenly see your whole life plan compromised by something as flimsy and fragile as a _feeling_ will be bullshiting. That's how his head sees things, anyway. It finds it all very overwhelming. His heart, which Fernando had spent an entire life believing to be shut down to anything romantic, however, has embraced it wholly. How does a human being even exist in the middle of that mess? It's like everything all around him suddenly boils down to Sergio. It's too much.

"I do," he finally admits. "I think about you. A lot."

Sergio watches him studiously for a moment. "Do you have any idea how much I've missed you?"

Fernando's heart is small and tight inside his chest. He feels trapped. "I have missed you too."

"I've been here all along. All you had to do was snap your fingers and I'd be wherever you wanted me to be."

"I know."

"I haven't turned to Cris for comfort. Not in that way," Sergio explains. "But I can't say that it hasn't crossed my mind." 

"... Right." Fernando looks down.

"Because I know exactly what you're doing when you're not here. When you're not with me, you're with someone else. So the less time you spend here, the more time someone... several someones... are getting to spend with you."

"It's not like that."

"It's exactly like that. You keep saying there's a difference, that you are you and El Niño is El Niño, but that's just not real. You're just one person, Fernando. _You_ get to decide how to split your time and _you_ make the call not to see me."

"It's not... It's complicated."

"Is this..." Sergio starts, stops, looks away from him, nervously, and then tries again. "Is this about José? Did he... say something?"

Fernando frowns. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know. I keep trying to imagine what could've happened for you to change so drastically," Sergio shrugs, but he sounds exasperated. "Is this about my stepfather? Have you been seeing him again?"

"I already told you I'm not seeing him anymore. It has nothing to do with José. I don't know why you would think that."

Sergio shakes his head. "I don't know, I just... I think a lot about this. All sorts of things." He pauses. "I tried really hard to be comprehensive about your situation, but I'm done pretending to be fine with the tiny bits you've been offering me lately. I don't want to be the last item on your list of priorities. I want to be more than that, because _you_ are more than that to me."

"I'm sorry," Fernando says after a beat, because it's the best he's got. He has no idea what to offer Sergio right now.

He stands there and he watches this beautiful, rich man who for some reason is trying too hard to keep a relationship going with someone who's probably not worth all the trouble. Fernando keeps on asking himself _why_ , being suspicious and doubtful, when perhaps he should just be rewarding Sergio's determination and commitment. He shouldn't test his resolve, he should honor it. But try being a prostitute for almost a decade, part of which was spent working the streets, and see if your alarm bells won't go ringing at something like this. When things are too good, there's always a catch. Fernando wants to believe that this happens, that sometimes you really do meet the perfect guy, that there really is such thing as _the one_. He really, really wants to believe it, from the bottom of his heart. But it's just stronger than him, being pessimistic, waiting for the worst possible outcome. It's deeply ingrained in his nature, like a survival instinct. That is what kept him alive for many years on the streets.

As the two of them fall back into quietness - one of them cold and jealous, the other hurt and angry - Fernando becomes aware of the silence as though it were a new sound. Silence sometimes reveals things that noise helps you hide.

"I think I should leave," he says after a moment. Silence. Maybe that's just what they need right now. 

"Right," Sergio laughs a hollow laugh. "Of course." 

"I don't think there's mood for me to stay anymore."

"Mood? We barely have time. I don't think we should be picky about moods too."

"What do you want me to do?"

"I'm the one who should be asking that question. Because honestly... I've tried being aggressive, I've tried being straightforward, I've tried giving you space, I've tried letting you do things your way... Nothing seems to be good enough for you. It's like you're this scared little animal and every time I get too close you just run back into the forest. I just don't know what to do anymore."

"Maybe you should try giving me time."

"You mean more than I've already given? I didn't see you for ten days before today."

"I mean _actual_ time. Ten days is nothing, Sergio. I need to think."

Fernando doesn't even realize what he's saying until he says it. The shock on Sergio's features is not so different from how he feels. There's a side of him already mentally kicking his ass for even proposing something like this; but then there's another, more reasonable, believing that that's exactly what he needs. What they both need.

"So you _are_ breaking up with me."

"No. No, that's not... I didn't say break up. I said time. It's different."

"How's that different?"

"It's not... definitive."

"For how long?"

"I don't know. Until we've come to a conclusion, I guess."

"What conclusion are you aiming to get to?"

"I don't know, Sergio," he snaps, impatiently. "But I think we both need to do that right now. There's a lot at stake and it's not as simple as you make it out to be. We've reached a crossroads here. I'm sorry, but I can't just follow whims. That's not how I am. My entire life has been about making sound, reasonable decisions, and I'm not about to change everything I've always believed in based on impulses. Not even for you." The moment the words leave his mouth Fernando wants to get them back and unsay it. It's not far from reality, but it's probably - definitely - a lot harsher than Sergio deserves to hear. The look of sheer hurt in the other man's eyes sends a pang straight to his heart. 

"If that's how you feel," Sergio states after a beat.

"It's not just about me. I think you need that time too. You can't tell me that you don't have things that you need to sort out yourself."

"I made a decision a long time ago. None of this was easy on me. You think I was expecting things to escalate as quickly as they did? I was caught just as off-guard as you were. But I know what I want and I've been trying to work it out whichever way I can. You're the one who keeps running away and hiding. Instead of discussing things, you just flee. I know there are a million things you're not telling me, I'm not stupid. But instead of _talking_ to me, like you should, because I'm your boyfriend, and you're supposed to be trust me, you prefer to ask for _time_. I have no problem with time if it's for a good reason, but I've given you nothing but time in the last couple of months and I've received nothing in return."

"Sergio, I -"

"Don't. If it's time you need, then have it. I won't argue with you anymore, Fernando. I'm done doing that. Do whatever you want. But don't come throwing jealousy fits again if you find out I decided not to wait for you when you come back."

And just like that, he is back outside, under the rain, not entirely sure of what just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe I told someone in a comment that this chapter was going to bring the client sex back. I thought it was a good moment because of everything that's going on with the characters - but ALSO because I had this Lord Finnan chapter planned maybe since before I even had finished the first chapter. I wrote the bit with Finns a billion years ago (it was the Sergio part that took me ages to finish). I could not write this story and not have a Finns chapter!! The world should have more Finns in it!
> 
> If there's anyone there who's read any of my other stories, you have probably already noticed how completely biased towards Finns I am. <333333 I kind of hate myself for not making his chapter a better one. 
> 
> Anyone. I hope you guys enjoy it. :)


	9. Stevie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a big thank you to **crazychelseablue** for beta-reading this chapter. You rock!  <3
> 
> As always your feedback makes me a very happy person! :) This chapter is a little different from all the previous ones, but I figured I needed to make it special 'cause the gues star of this chapter is a heavyweight! I'm really looking forward to knowing what you guys think. There's a lot of backstory as well. I hope you enjoy it!

Fernando likes to think of his life in _befores_ and _afters_. Things aren't always easy to understand; for the longest time, they weren't even easy to accept. Cataloguing moments is how he copes. He puts an end in every chapter before starting another. The only way he managed not to end up drowning in sorrow and regret was to see opportunities where there should only be failures. After every disaster, someone stronger, with thicker skin, was born out of his shell.

There is life _before_ England and _after_ England. A Fernando _before_ college and another completely different one _after_ that. Just as now there is the person he was _before_ Xabi and the one he became _after_ Xabi - El Niño. 

Of all the big turning points he's had (and there's been quite a few) however, the most important and life-changing one is Steven Gerrard. There is life _before_ Stevie and life _after_ Stevie, although for a long time there it felt as though there was absolutely nothing until Stevie showed up. 

There was a time when everything seemed bright and promising for him, but that moment was fleeting and the speed with which his entire world came crashing down around him was overwhelming and so definitive it scared him. Every shiny, beautiful door that had been open to him was suddenly closed. At the age of 23 Fernando realized that he'd reached the bottom of something. 

To say Stevie is the reason why he’s still alive today is no exaggeration. He was a fairy godmother to Fernando, if fairy godmothers paid their Cinderellas for sex. Not that Fernando cares about the money. He would do it for free with Stevie, any day, any time. But Stevie - he's a gentleman. He thinks not paying would be taking advantage of someone who feels eternally indebted to him. He doesn't think Fernando owes him anything. Stevie knows nothing.

Stevie found him long before El Niño was even born. Back then he was just Fernando, desperate and alone and on the verge of something really stupid. Like with most prostitutes, Fernando's career choice hides a sad story. His began when he got kicked out of the university dorm after losing his scholarship for not keeping his grades up (although the real reason might have been that he simply didn't show up for classes for two whole months at one point). Fernando likes to think that the screwing up part wasn't so much his fault as it was lack of maturity and appropriate guidance, but that's just what he tells himself to justify what was unequivocally a very straightforward case of stupidity of the highest caliber. 

The truth is that he was a very impressionable young man and had to learn things the hard way. As someone who'd never had much before, he was easily attracted by all the infinite possibilities that life in England and some money suddenly offered him. So Fernando committed the very juvenile mistake of allowing himself to be mesmerized by the _cool kids_ on campus, losing focus on the point of everything, and thus becoming friends with people who didn't depend on scholarships or even necessarily need diplomas to have decent positions waiting for them outside. From that to deciding that getting wasted, having lots of sex and enjoying his youth to the fullest was a better idea than studying was a blink. 

Fernando didn't think he'd ever really _lived_ until he left home for university. The problem then was that he started living a little too fast and a little too furious, as though he were on borrowed time and all that new, fantastic world would be taken away from him. He didn't plan ahead, didn't think of his future; he only thought of going back to Spain, where he had nothing, to slave away for the rest of his days in order to provide for his family. That was the plan, anyway. And it's not that he didn't want to go back and help his family. He just didn't want to become the breadwinner so soon, so young. Instead of concentrating on what was really important, he decided to take a little detour first.

Unfortunately, the uni board didn't agree with him so much. No amount of apologies or teary eyes could change their minds.

In moments like this, when it becomes clear that you belong to a different world than everyone you know, you realize how you never really had any friends to begin with. Nobody offered a helping hand. There were guys there whose families practically owned the school board, and none of them were willing to compromise by putting in a good word for Fernando. Compromising of course meant vouching for someone with an obvious record for bad behavior, which would implicate that they too were somehow involved in it. And what would anyone gain by making sacrifices for a poor kid from Spain? That was the first in a series of lessons Fernando came to learn the harshest possible way in England: do not trust anyone. The only person he could count on was himself, which was hardly comforting, considering the 23 year-old him was very unreliable, to say the least.

With nowhere to go and a total wealth of ten pounds, Fernando did the only thing he could think of in a short and desperate time and took money from some sad bastard with a sick fetish for problematic college students. 

_No money_ is, nine and a half times out of ten, the answer to the question 'Why did you become a prostitute?', regardless of which prostitute you're asking. A high end one, a street walker, a junkie, a casual escort, doesn't matter. It all starts with an empty bank account and a bad idea.

He did it once, twice, three times and, before he knew it, he was doing it almost every day. 

The first time is the worst. The whole problem might just be that it gets easier after that. There's no going back from getting down on your knees to suck some disgusting cock for a few quid. It seriously changes everything, starting with the way you perceive yourself. All those things you never thought you'd ever be able to do, all the rock-bottoms you always thought to be beneath you... Perspective is simply different after that. It's one of those one-offs that are just going to be forever stamped on your résumé. If it happens once or one hundred times, it's all the same. Once you've battled your own self-respect and sense of dignity to do it one time, what keeps you from doing it again? 

The answer to that is: nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Back in the early days, more often than not, it was an awful life to live. Fernando got beat up, threatened with knives or guns, robbed and he's not going to say raped because he said yes and took money for it, but the line there is very blurry. He had to run for his life to escape religious assholes firmly believing him to be the spawn of Satan, cheated wives who thought he was the reason for their misery (honestly, lady, if your husband is out paying to fuck male whores, there's a _tiny_ chance your misery stems from the fact you married a very frustrated _gay man_ ; think about it), closeted men who weren't on good terms with how much they enjoyed taking pleasure from other men, fellow prostitutes pissed at him for either "stealing" a client or becoming more popular around the area... It's an endless list; name whatever you want, it's happened to him. It's happened to everyone working the streets.

There was never a dull night. Gross guys in cars who wanted nothing more than a blow job were a good day at the office. Mostly they'd take him to dirty alleys, bend him over and fuck him senseless, no warmth at all. The streets is where morale goes to die. 

Fernando became a pale shadow of that promising student who first set foot in the UK. He considered giving up and going back home with his pride shattered and a chunk of his soul missing several times, but always gave up upon the prospect of having to tell his parents the reasons why he got kicked out of school. His very conservative and very hard-working parents, who were so, so happy for him. _"Sorry mom, sorry dad, I blew up your dream of seeing one of your children graduate because I became a junkie. Oh, and a sex addict as well."_ He just couldn't see that happening. They worked their asses off at two, sometimes three jobs at a time each just to make sure that he wouldn't have to drop out of school or dedicate himself less to his studies to help the family income. All his parents wanted was for their children to have a good education and a better shot at success than they had. Going home wasn't just about admitting personal defeat; it was about ruining his family. To this day, he can't find it in him to disappoint them. If it depends on him, they will remain firmly believing that the money he sends them every month and uses to pay for his siblings' tuitions comes from an incredible job he got at an important firm in London - _after_ he graduated. 

To say that it's a blessing that his parents are terrified of flying is really an understatement.

In his darkest moment, Fernando danced with possibilities he never thought he would and that scare him to this day. He doesn't even like thinking back to that time. Moments when he had to battle the will to stuff his face with drugs just to get through another day were actually the lighter ones. It was the easy way out and almost everyone he knew was on something. Getting in is easy, the appeal is obvious, the relief too; the problem is that it's almost impossible to quit afterwards. It's hard to say whether the addiction is to the chemicals or to that little bit of peace of mind that oblivion brought. Getting involved with dealers was a risk as well. More often than not, people who got into drugs under those circumstances consumed a lot more than they could afford, which meant they ended up working for the dealers and becoming part of the worst types of prostitution chains just to pay for their debts. 

Nobody wakes up one day and decides to become a prostitute out of the blue, just because it sounds like a good idea or an adventure; it's always a lot more complicated than that. There's always that moment when you finally realize what you've done to your life, how irreversibly fucked everything is. That is the moment when you hit the bottom. It's suffocating and despairing; it leaves you completely devoid of hope. That's when you finally drown. Fernando's met countless boys and girls who failed to resist all that awfulness and ended up surrendering to the easy way out. He can't really say the idea of suicide never appealed to him.

When there just seemed to be nothing good ahead and he had no one but himself to blame for the seven layers of shit under which he found himself buried, an angel by the name of Steven Gerrard walked into his life.

Everything changed when Stevie came along. Well, not _changed_ , changed. Fernando remained a prostitute, only he became a hopeful one, a confident one. Stevie brightened up his days and made his life more bearable. That gorgeous, rich, _very_ socially relevant man was interested in him. _Only_ in him. He was kind and sweet and took Fernando to huge hotel rooms, bought him dinner and talked to him like he was a human being, not a stray dog. He wanted to know his story, understand how a person like him ended up depressed and working on the streets. Stevie was shocked to learn something as simple as losing a scholarship could trigger all that. For someone of Stevie's rank, he was actually a bit naive about the horrors of the world; you could see that he came from a place where the thought of money ever being such a life-changing issue simply didn't exist. They were from completely different planets, and yet they got along so well it was like they’d known each other their whole lives.

He offered to help Fernando pay for the rest of his studies or to get him a job somewhere else, but Fernando refused because maybe he had no shadow of dignity in him anymore, but that didn't mean he wasn't just as proud as ever. So, instead, Stevie made a few calls, introduced Fernando to the right guys and soon enough he was out of the streets and into a luxury brothel on the outskirts of Liverpool, where the tips were fat and the rules were strict. No more getting beat up, raped or humiliated (unless he was ok with and very well remunerated for that). 

That was when Fernando learned there is a bright side to being a prostitute, if you're lucky enough. When you have the right clients and work at the right places, it's not so bad. As a matter of fact, it can be really interesting, to say the least. 

Fernando rediscovered how much he enjoyed sex, learned new tricks and skills. He found out that he could make a _lot_ of money, working way less hours than if he had a regular job. Also, truth be told, having sex was much better than sitting in front of a computer for eight hours a day and answering to stupid bosses. Not that his bosses at the brothel were _nice_ people, but they weren't so bad as long as Fernando didn't do anything to challenge them. 

It wasn't perfect, there were still bad customers and days when he simply wasn't feeling it and still had to show up for work and fuck two, three, sometimes more guys. But there was also Stevie, so it was ok.

A year later he got recommended to Xabi by one of his regulars at the brothel and was invited to join his very prestigious agency in London. The rest is history.

For the longest time, Fernando was convinced that what he felt for Stevie was true love. Leaving him behind was one of the toughest things Fernando ever had to do. Stevie was his shelter, his lifebuoy. How was he supposed to sever the connection that had literally kept him alive thus far? The only way was to take the Band-Aid ripping strategy about it: Fernando didn't tell him a thing, just packed his bags and jumped on the first train to London. He had to learn how to handle the pressure by himself, not lean on Stevie whenever there was a bump on the road. Becoming that attached to a client is a dangerous thing as well. The first rule of prostitution is _never fall in love_. Fernando had to set himself free if he expected to succeed and reach new levels. Which meant getting away from Liverpool and, consequently, from Stevie as well.

It took him some time getting used to his new life, but it happened eventually, and Fernando likes to think he's a much better person now; first because he met Stevie, and then because he managed to walk away from him and stand on his own two feet. Xabi was a great tutor as well, taught him a lot about how to never sell himself short. The rest was his own set of bed skills, a good dose of pride and an insatiable appetite for good sex.

Once Stevie was done being pissed at him for leaving without saying goodbye, they started seeing each other again. Now he just pops in for one or two nights with Fernando whenever he has to be in London for business. They used to do it without going through Xabi, but then they had to start making it official because that Spaniard is a fucking murderous bitch when he thinks he's getting played. No big deal, though. Xabi knows Stevie has priority and, much against his own will, manages to make time for him on Fernando's busy schedule whenever he calls, whether it's short-notice or not. 

He doesn't think he's in love with Stevie anymore. Now he understands it was never really love, not that kind of love anyway. It was gratitude and admiration and holding on to the one good thing he had in an otherwise pitiful existence. Stevie never expected anything in return when he decided to help Fernando. Not even a free sex card, which is the least he could get. People are so quick to judge... If anyone hears about a man who hides the fact he is gay from his entire family and cheats on his wife with a prostitute, they won't even think twice before labeling him as a villain. They couldn't be further away from the truth in this case. 

Stevie is one of the good ones. One of the best ones. 

Fernando doesn’t even like to consider Stevie in the same category as his other clients. From all the people he sees, Stevie is the only one who gets Fernando, not El Niño. They talk on the phone and they meet at Fernando's place. They go out for dinner, they have breakfast together, sometimes Stevie stays over for the night, if he can. They're close. Really close. It’s hard to find a word to define what they are. It’s even harder to explain. Which is why, when Stevie shows up at Fernando's door, Fernando greets him with a hug and a broad open smile that falters when Stevie is not looking. 

For the first time since the two of them met, Fernando thinks this is a terrible time for Stevie to show up. And the reason for that is simple: Sergio.

The thing is that there might be a new _before_ and _after_ in his life, and one of the big ones. Abstractly speaking, Sergio hasn't been in Fernando's life long enough for his impact to be as relevant as Stevie’s; objectively, though, Sergio has already started to bend the rules in his favor. It's useless not to admit that things are just different now than they were seven months ago.

For Fernando, it's the strangest sensation in the world, not being comfortable around Stevie. He and Sergio are still on a break, haven't spoken to each other in a week. Fernando has no idea what their current situation is, whether they’re really on pause or if Sergio’s taken his request as a decision to move on. He certainly seemed pretty pissed off and Fernando can’t say he’ll be surprised to find out he’s already banging someone else – someone like _Cris_. But the truth is, whatever their status is, if Sergio ever hears about Stevie, especially considering how fragile they are at the moment, it’s guaranteed that their break will be made permanent once and for all.

Stevie is everything Sergio is afraid Fernando's clients might be. All of his jealousy and the preoccupations Fernando keept brushing aside as nonsensical - it's all actually pretty real. It's all Stevie. It’s still nonsense as far as Sergio knows because he’s not aware of Stevie’s existence, and it might still nonsense about all the other clients, but the fact there's one person who breaks the rule is probably enough to confirm the suspicions, and more than enough to make Fernando feel a little too much like a cheating asshole. While he defended his right to fuck whoever pays him because that’s his job and claimed it never means anything to him other than money, he was deliberately ignoring that tiny voice at the back of his head asking, in a conveniently Scouse accent, ' _But what about Stevie?_ '. 

It should be exhilarating and marvelous to have Stevie’s arms around him, to feel Stevie’s lips on his; it should turn him on to have his hands roaming all over his body; that warm breath against his skin again, after such a long time, should make him bristle. Instead, however, Fernando can’t shake off the feeling that he’s doing something wrong. 

When Stevie pushes him up against the wall and presses their bodies together and places tiny little kisses all over his face, hands sliding underneath his shirt to touch Fernando's skin as though he owns it, that's not just another day of work; that's Fernando going behind his boyfriend's back. 

"Are you ok?" Stevie says, pulling away slightly. 

Fernando blinks at Stevie. "What?" He hadn't even realized he'd been drifting.

"You look tense," he says, rubbing Fernando's arms a little, thoughtful frown on his face. He doesn't step back, though. "Worried about something? Or are you just not happy to see me anymore?" His smile is playful, but his eyes are concerned. It’s been a while since they last saw each other. Hell, their last meeting was before Sergio. The fact Fernando even managed to go that long without seeing Stevie is a testament to how much things have changed during that time. 

"I'm fine," Fernando says, making a bit of an effort to relax and grin. He lifts one hand to touch Stevie's face, caressing his cheek. "Of course I'm glad you're here."

"You sure?" he prods. "You can tell me. I know it's been a while." Stevie pauses. "Are you upset with me?"

"Of course not."

"Then what is it?"

"It's just -" he starts, stop and then shakes his head. "It's nothing." Fernando places his hands on Stevie's waist, realizes what he's doing and lowers them down to his hips, then figures that way is even worse and just takes his hands back. 

Stevie looks down at his arms, then cocks him an intrigued eyebrow and finally takes a step back. "Want to tell me what all that fidgeting is about?"

He considers Stevie for a whole two seconds before brushing away the idea of sharing his dilemma. It's not fair to Stevie, not after everything. Besides, he and Sergio aren't even properly together at the moment. Why would he push away someone who's never been anything but extraordinary to him for someone who refuses to accept who he is? 

"It's nothing," he repeats, more determined this time. "It's just my head -", Fernando waves his hand in front of his own face, "- it's kind of messy today."

"Did something happen?" Stevie asks, a slight hint of worry grazing his features.

Fernando simply shakes his head and takes the other man's hand. "Nothing important."

When he leads Stevie towards his bedroom, the other man doesn't protest. Fernando opts to ignore the heavy quake at the pit of his stomach as he takes off his own shirt and simply lies back in bed, offering Stevie a come-hither smile that he has to fight to keep from wavering. He feels terrible to be so hesitant and guilty around Stevie, awful for not being able to shake off the thoughts of Sergio. His body is there, perfectly willing, but his head is somewhere else entirely. This has never happened to him before.

Stevie takes off his jacket and tie, watching Fernando from above with a strange sort of look on his face, one the Spaniard either can't define or is simply too distracted to notice properly. He undoes the first buttons of his shirt, rolls up his sleeves to his elbows and then crawls up in bed, one hand and one knee on each side of Fernando's body. Stevie lowers his face slowly and places a tentative kiss on Fernando's lip, keeping his eyes open like he's testing something.

Fernando pulls Stevie's body down flush against his, wraps his arms around his waist and tries to deepen the kiss. The other man doesn't object when Fernando's tongue penetrates his mouth, but it takes the Spaniard a moment to realize he's not exactly kissing back. His eyes are still open.

"What?" Fernando asks. 

“What what?”

"Why aren't you doing anything?"

"I'm waiting."

"Waiting for what?"

"For you to give up."

"Give up on what?"

"On making out."

He frowns. "Why would I give up on making out?"

Stevie gives him a look - like Fernando's a stranger and he doesn't know him at all, or maybe like he knows him too well. "I want to see how far you'll take this until you can't do it anymore."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Come on, Nando. I know there's something going on."

"Is that why you just couldn't wait to come over? To _talk_?" he tries, annoyed.

"No," Stevie admits. "But sex isn't the entire reason why I came over either. And, to be honest, it's almost like I'm forcing you."

"That's not true," Fernando protests, all indignation. "I was kissing you, you weren't kissing me back!"

Stevie sighs and rolls away from him, lying beside Fernando, leaning up on his elbows. "I can see it in your eyes that your head is not in it. If we do it right now, it will be out of some sense of obligation you think you have towards me, and that’s not what I want. It has never been, and you know it. I want you as long as you want me.”

“You know, that’s actually offensive.”

“It’s really not. I’m not mad at you and it’s not an order for you to get excited either, I’m just saying. I don’t want to fuck you just because. It would be horrible sex. It’s all right if you don’t want to do it.”

"Stevie, I'm not -" Fernando stops mid-sentence, turning his face a little to look at the other man. Stevie's eyebrows are arched up to his hairline in an _I'm-interested-in-hearing-your-excuse-please-do-go-on_ fashion. It makes him stop himself, for some reason. And then he realizes it's because Stevie is not taking his denials seriously at all. 

Stevie's testing his determination because he knows Fernando too well; he can sense when there's something off with him. Mostly because there hardly ever is. Their reunions are made of sloppy kisses and exploratory hands and lots of happy orgasms, not of distant gazing and cold interaction. 

Why Stevie would rather talk about it than get down to business is beyond Fernando, but he doesn't really look all that interested in sex. His body language says he wants to hear a story. Fernando exhales.

"So are you going to be cryptic about it and let me fill in all the blanks myself or...?"

"Let it be registered that I tried."

"It's registered."

"And that I wanted to have sex."

"We can talk about that later," Stevie nods. "Now, shoot."

He lets out a dejected sigh as he sits up in bed, looking down at his own hands. "I'm... thinking. About something. Someone. I keep thinking about someone else."

"What do you mean?"

"I have... well, it's kind of a... I think the word is boyfriend." He regrets saying it the minute it leaves his lips. It sounds so stupid. Stevie is laying _right there_ and he's talking about his goddamn boyfriend who probably hates his guts right now. 

"You have a boyfriend?" Stevie asks, somewhere between surprise and amusement.

"I guess."

"You guess?"

"We're not exactly on good terms at the moment."

"Oh." Fernando hears the bed creaking and the sheets rustling behind, and then Stevie is sitting next to him, shoulder to shoulder. "Is that what this is all about, then? You had a fight with your boyfriend?"

"Kind of."

"But is it like... An actual boyfriend? Or just one of those guys you pick up along the way from time to time?"

Fernando smiles, raises his head just enough to look at Stevie out of the corner of his eyes. "It's legit."

"Well, that's... new," Stevie says. "I don't think I've ever heard you using that word, boyfriend."

"I don't think I ever did."

"It's serious, then."

Fernando shrugs. "It was."

"Did you break up?"

"Not exactly. We had a fight and I asked for some time, but that wasn't really a sensible thing to do at the time. He was angry. I haven't talked to him in a week. He might have moved on already."

"A week is not enough time to move on."

"It might be," he shrugs. "He has this friend, Cris. He's got the most amazing six pack I've ever seen, it's ridiculous."

"How do you know his friend has a six pack?" Fernando chuckles, turns his face to Stevie at last. The other man is frowning at him.

"He has a habit of walking around my boyfriend's apartment shirtless, apparently."

"That can't be good."

"It's not."

The subsequent silence makes Fernando fidgety again. He starts cracking his knuckles, one after the other, and when he runs out of knuckles to crack, he decides to stretch out his legs in front of him, and once they're stretched, he wants them folded under his body, and then he has to stand up because he doesn't know what to do anymore. He paces around a little, from one side of the room to the next, before stopping in front of Stevie, who's watching him with a smile threatening to break onto his lips.

"Well, say something!" Fernando demands.

"I was having fun watching you."

"There's nothing fun about this, Stevie. I'm freaking out."

"I can see that," he nods in agreement.

"It's stupid, isn't it? This whole boyfriend thing, it's just - it's a huge mistake. I knew it wouldn't work out since the beginning. It's just a ridiculous idea. I don't even know why I allowed him to talk me into it. It’s been a few months and I’m already sick of that crap," Fernando babbles, words tumbling over one another as they come out of his mouth in quick succession. "And I can't do this to you," he adds after a brief pause.

"Do what to me?"

" _This_! Being weird and uncooperative. You deserve more than that from me."

"But why exactly is this happening?" he asks. "Does your boyfriend know about what you do?"

"Yes."

"And he's ok with it?"

"Not exactly," Fernando says, sitting back down next to Stevie with droopy shoulders. "He used to be. But then he changed his mind. It might be because I decided to push it a little to see how serious he was about it. I was a bit of an ass, to be honest. But now he's kind of... Pissed. I think he wants me to make a decision, but I don't even know what decision that is. He keeps saying that I spend more time with my clients than with him, which is true, but I tell him that it means nothing and that none of my clients are important to me the way he is, which is also true, except..." 

"Except for me," the other man completes, smiling. Fernando nods. "That's flattering."

"I feel like I'm cheating on him. Because everything he says about my clients and that I keep denying is true about you."

"So you haven't told him about me?" Fernando shakes his head. "I see."

The Spaniard grunts in frustration, combing his fingers through his hair. "It's stupid. I know it's stupid. I'm sorry, Stevie," he says, shifting a little in bed so that he's sitting facing the other man. "You shouldn't have to listen to any of this crap."

"Why not? I wish you'd told me sooner. Why didn't you? We spoke on the phone several times."

"I... I didn't think it would last," Fernando admits. "I didn't think it would ever turn into something."

" _I’m_ the one feeling stupid now."

"Why?"

"Because I was all over you the minute I walked in here, I was ready to have you up against the wall, and you're all worried about your boyfriend and obviously going through a rough patch. I feel like a heartless arse."

"No! No, Stevie, that's not - you didn't know. Fuck, you shouldn't have to know. I shouldn't be telling you any of this. I shouldn't even be feeling this way! It's pathetic and I need to get over it. I'm sorry. You didn't come all the way here to watch me sulk. Let me fix it." 

Fernando pulls Stevie closer by his shirt and immediately starts attacking his mouth, trying to climb over the other man's lap. Stevie places a palm flat on his chest and stops him, pulling him back gently. It sends a jolt of guilt right through him. Brilliant; not only was he a jerk to Sergio, now he's also being terrible to Stevie. 

"What?" he asks, almost desperate, begging Stevie to take him and kiss him and fuck him and make this whole awful night just go away. _Something_ needs to feel right again. _Something_ has to be good. Or he'll just start to lose it completely.

"Are you serious? Do you honestly think I'm that kind of person?"

"What kind of person?"

"The kind that would be willing to rape you, for God's sake. Fernando, your head is not in it."

"I'm saying I want it. Aren't you listening to me? Read my lips. _I. Want. You_ ," he says, pausing between each word for emphasis.

Stevie just shakes his head at him. "I'm not going to have sex with you."

Puffing out in frustration, Fernando lies back in bed and shuts his eyes. "God, I hate my life," he says. "I've ruined everything."

"You didn't ruin anything, stop being so dramatic."

"Really? _Really_? You're like my favorite person in the world, and now even you hate me." Stevie's stretched silence prompts Fernando to snap his eyes open in fear. "You were supposed to deny that. Oh, God. You do hate me, don't you?"

"Well..." Stevie starts, making Fernando gape in horror. "If I say that I'm not a little disappointed I'd be lying. I do look forward to our meetings and I really did miss you. But _hate_ is a very strong word. I'm... a tad discouraged. Hate? No. Definitely not."

Fernando sighs. "I'm sorry."

"I can see how sorry you are. It's all over your face. I don't think I've ever seen you being so upfront about anything as you are right now. This boyfriend must have really messed with your head," he says, grinning lightly. Fernando wants to sit up and kiss him right then just because. He doesn’t, though. Spontaneous reactions like kissing Stevie for no reason probably count more as cheating than fucking him for his money.

"I just don't know what to do."

"Are you thinking about quitting?" Fernando sends him such a sharp and horrified look just then that Stevie is almost taken aback. "What? It's an honest question. If you're so serious about that guy, shouldn't you be thinking about quitting?"

"No!" Fernando shouts. "Why would I quit? I was honest with him about everything from day one. He's the one who insisted, I didn't even want to have anything to do with him. He can't just change his mind now. If he wants to be with me, he has to be with me the way I am."

"Have you considered that perhaps the reason why he’s changing his mind is that he didn't expect things to be so serious when you two first started going out, just like you didn’t? Maybe he wants more from this relationship than he thought he would at first."

"And what does that have to do with what I do?"

Stevie snorts. "Are you serious? Can't you think of anything?"

"Stevie, I'm a prostitute. That's what I do. It's _all_ I know how to do. I quit and then what?"

"Is he rich?"

"That's completely beside the point."

"He can help you out."

"What, by giving me money? I'd never do that, not in a million years," Fernando says, indignant. "If I quit based on the fact that he's rich, it would be like being his private whore. There's no difference between taking money from a million guys or just one. He's different exactly because it has never been about money. If that becomes a thing, then... It's over. It's pointless."

"Well, then. Find another job."

"Yeah? Like what?" Fernando asks, sitting up in bed. "Kindergarten teacher, perhaps?"

"You'd be good with kids," Stevie smiles. 

"Sure. And I could maybe offer an extra to the dads after class hours, why not?”

Stevie rolls his eyes at him. "Honestly, Fernando. You're a smart guy. You were just out of uni when I met you. Have you thought about going back to studying?"

"And pay for it, how?"

"I'm sure you have enough money saved for that."

"Have you forgotten that I have a family to keep? I send them money every month, Stevie, they count on that. Not just my parents, but my siblings too. I can't just quit my job and take some time out thinking about what to do next. That's not an option."

"Look, I'm not saying go crazy and just dump everything from day to night, ok? All I'm saying is... give it some thought. Instead of getting all defensive, try sleeping on the idea a day or two or a month, if you will, but consider it seriously. Take a look at all your options. You seem so definitive about your occupation, like there is absolutely nothing else in the entire world for you to do, and that's just not true. For instance, you should figure out how long you still think you have in the business you're in, how many more years of your life you want to dedicate to this. But be realistic about it. You know you'll have to stop at some point. What you do is not something that lasts forever. When you reach a certain age, things are going to start changing. You still have a lot of hot years ahead of you, but do you still want to be an escort when you're 40? 50? You have to think about your future, where you'd like to be when the time to quit comes, what you'd like to do, all the things you will still want to seize in life in your young years."

Fernando opens his mouth to say something, but no sound comes out. This subject is obviously something he's given some thought, but for brief moments only, never this deeply. He hates to think about the future. The future is too uncertain, too volatile. Things change too fast. If there’s one thing he’s learned, is that creating expectations is just another step towards disappointment. But Sergio… Sergio has just changed everything, hasn’t he?

In the face of his muted response, one that actually says a lot, Stevie touches the side of his face to make sure he's still listening and ploughs on. "Then you should think about your boyfriend," he adds, softly. "Think about whether you would rather have him there, with you, when you retire, or not. If the idea is appealing to you, if you think you'd like to have someone to hold your hand as you jump into a completely new phase of your life, then I think you have your answer. I've never been through anything even remotely similar to what you're going through right now, but my guess is that it's not at all easy finding someone who's willing to accept all your baggage. It's worth it, because you're wonderful, but men are usually dicks, about these things. Too easily scared. That guy sounds like he's made of tougher material."

"I..." Fernando pauses. "I guess."

Stevie nods. "You can start taking fewer clients, dedicating more time to yourself, to him. Easing Xabi into the idea of losing his most precious asset."

Fernando chuckles. "That might prove to be the hardest part."

"Nah. Xabi may very well be an uncorrectable optimist, which I doubt, he sounds a lot more like a skeptic bastard, but he's hardly stupid. He knows there will come a day when you won't want to do this anymore, either because you're tired or because you've found something better. If I'm right about him, he's probably already preparing someone to take your place."

Fernando rolls his eyes. "Hazard."

"What?"

"Hazard. New boy. I heard Xabi likes him. A lot."

Stevie smirks. "See? My gut feeling never fails me. I'm really good at reading people, even the ones I've only ever pestered through the phone."

"You do realize that if I follow your 12 step plan to salvation like you just said, you're the first person I'm gonna have to stop seeing, right?"

Something falters in Stevie's smile, he blinks away from Fernando for the briefest of moments, and it's enough to make Fernando crack. "I know," Stevie answers.

"And you don't mind?"

"I never said that."

"You're being very encouraging."

"Fernando..." Stevie looks straight into his eyes then. "If I could offer you the things that that lad is offering you, I'd put up a fight for you. And I'd fancy my chances too. I'm quite the charmer when I want to be."

"Oh, I know that," Fernando agrees, smiling.

"But the truth is that I can't compete. Not because I don't want to, but because... It's too complicated. I can't give you a relationship, a home, a future. Lately, I can't even give you my time. God knows when I'll be able to come back to London. I wish I could tell you that I'll make you the happiest man alive, but I'd be lying. I've been very careful not to create that sort of expectation with you throughout the years, even more so because we have something special going on. You said I'm different than your clients. Well, you're different than all the other boys I've seen in my life too. But it would be terribly selfish of me to dissuade you from pursuing an honest thing with that lad of yours. I am going to miss you, because I really, _really_ like you. You know that. But what I want, above everything else, what I've always wanted, is to see you happy. If that means giving you up, then so be it. My door will always be open to you. Whatever you need, you can come to me. Besides… We'll always have our memories, right?"

When Stevie stops talking, Fernando finds himself unable to respond. His question - _Right?_ \- lingers unanswered in the air, because the truth is he stopped listening somewhere in the middle of that speech. He stopped hearing to just stare at Stevie in awe. Suddenly he feels exactly like he did all those years ago, in Liverpool, when they first met. Suddenly he remembers exactly why Stevie means so much. It's more than words or a hurried explanation to Sergio could ever do justice. 

Stevie could just sit here and tell Fernando how disappointed he is that he's thinking about quitting, how upset he feels that he never said anything about Sergio, how disheartening it is to make a three hour trip to London just to have Fernando getting all weird on him. He could finally ask for something back for all the great deeds he's done before, ask him not to quit, tell him that his boyfriend can't be more important than him, and doesn't Fernando think he deserves a little more consideration than that? It would all be true. And Fernando would listen and follow his every word, feel awful and terrible and apologize for a month. Stevie's got Fernando wrapped around his little finger and he knows it. He knows it, but he chooses to let him go. 

It's impossible to believe that anyone could ever be as selfless as that. It makes Fernando's heart warm and his stomach churn and it brings back to the forefront of his mind all those fantasies he used to have about walking off into the sunset with Stevie and living happily ever after. It's easy to see why he could never fancy himself with anyone else after Stevie. He sort of ruins your expectations of men. He's just... Beautiful. In every possible way.

Beautiful and watching him with expectant eyes, waiting for him to react. Fernando doesn't have words for him, so instead he just leans forward, cups Stevie's face with both his hands and pulls him into a kiss. Long, slow and passionate. But most of all, grateful.

"What was that?" Stevie asks, grinning, when he finally breaks apart. "I thought we were... Weren't we just talking about doing the opposite?"

"I know," Fernando says. "But you just make it very hard to let you go."

Stevie laughs and shakes his head. "Pardon me. It was not my intention," he says. And then, after a moment, "What does it mean, though? That kiss?"

Fernando takes a deep breath, closes his eyes for a second and braces himself for what comes next. 

"It means,” he says, “that I just made a decision."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize it's been taking me a lot of time to update my stories. I planned on wrapping this one up in two, three months and look at me now. All I can say is that I decided to watch The Good Wife all at once during holidays and that was the worst decision I've ever made in my life, because now I am obsessed and completely heartbroken. Let's hope I can put my shit back together and get you quicker updates from now on.


	10. Sergio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I keep apologizing for taking so long to update and that by now my apologies mean absolutely nothing to you, but I really am SO, SO, SO sorry. I never meant to take so long to finish this chapter. I ran out of mojo, then I had a major trip to plan, then a major trip to make, then a lot of things to catch up with, and then the chapter turned to be the second longest one so far. Just now, giving a last once-over, I added 500 words to it. I mean... It's a monster. So even if it doesn't mean anything, I apologize SO MUCH for the delay. I promise I'll try to have an update sooner this time. I have the next chapter outlines and it should probably be a short one, just so you guys won't have to wait too long.
> 
> Also, this chapter has not been beta'ed and in case some you don't know/forgot, English is not my first language. So I apologize beforehand for all the mistakes you will likely find. I did my best to spot them, but I think that is humanly impossible. Please be kind, though. :(
> 
> Last but not least, you know feedback is always very much welcome and I am looking forward to what you guys think. :) Please drop me a note and let me know! Hope you enjoy your reading.

For the past week and a half, all Fernando heard from Sergio was his voice mail. 

At first, it's really annoying. He is trying to be the bigger person, to trim edges and cut spaces and maybe try to fix things - in his own perhaps slightly unorthodox way, yes, but still -, but Sergio is having none of it. Being ignored whilst trying to offer an apology of sorts or wave a white flag is just plain rude. It's irritating that he's the only person _doing_ something, even if he has no clue _what_ he is doing after all, if it even means anything. 

In his brief moments of clarity, however, Fernando realizes he shouldn't be so quick to judge. It's unfair to blame Sergio for being on the defensive when Fernando's basically lived in that position for the entire duration of their relationship, bar a few short-lived moments here and there. It's why they paused things in the first place, because Fernando was _so_ defensive about everything it was starting to get in the way of them being together. Now it's Sergio's time to play hardball, and it is frustrating as hell, but Fernando sometimes thinks he probably deserves the silent treatment.

So when he dials Sergio's number that morning, he's not holding his breath. He knows he'll be talking to the voice mail again - which, considering he hasn't rehearsed anything, might not be such a bad thing after all. At some point he'd like to talk to a real person, but that point is not now, especially if said person is still fuming and ready to throw all sorts of awful truths in his face. So all Fernando hopes for - all he _prays_ for - is that Sergio has at least been listening to all his messages before deliberately ignoring all of them due to their lack of substance, and that he'll listen to this new one as well and realize that it is not like the ones that came before. Otherwise, the meeting Fernando has with Xabi in about half an hour is going to be a major flop.

The conversation with Xabi is going to define a lot of things. Or that's the idea, anyway. If it swings Fernando's way, it's going to put him on a certain track and that track will be the guide line for - the rest of his life, probably. No pressure there.

If he has to blame someone, though, it has to be Stevie. Stevie got him thinking. Fernando went back and forth on his decision throughout the night, weighting cons and pros, freaking out at times before getting his shit together only to lose it all over again right after. Barely had any sleep at all. Eventually, though, he realized there was only ever one option, if spending the rest of his days hanging on _what ifs_ and day-dreaming about _could haves_ until he finally dies, probably alone, isn't really something he fancies for himself. Stevie, ever the voice of reason in his life, was right yet again. 

He should give Sergio a chance. Although - just thinking of it as a chance to _Sergio_ seems like starting on the wrong foot. It's not really Sergio he should give a chance to, it's himself. Sergio is young and beautiful and rich. He's had loads of boyfriends before and he'll likely have loads more after. He's the sort of person who can afford the luxury of marching through life in search of abstract ideals, such as love, because everything else is already within his reach. Fernando, on the other hand, is the complete opposite. He never had anything, and working hard to get it all meant he had to give up on a lot of things, one of which was romance. Romance always just seemed like an awful inconvenience, nothing more than a distraction. Fernando never opened himself up for that sort of proximity with another person, he's never known love that way and it's very possible that he never will again. Maybe he'll meet someone in a few years who'll seem decent enough, worthy enough, and it'll just seem like the right time, so he'll be with that person and he'll _stay_ with that person and allow himself to make plans for the future and so on and so forth, but that's all in the plane of hypothesis. 

But Sergio is not a _maybe_ and not _in a few years' time_ ; he is right here, right now. The real deal, and as good it will ever get.

So the most honest way to address the situation is, probably, by admitting that he wants to give _them_ a chance to either be happy or screw up, but a genuine shot nonetheless. Fernando should stop seeing it a temporary thing, he should stop holding back. And he should definitely not put all the responsibility of making it count over Sergio's shoulder, which is basically the way he's been acting until now. Sergio does all the hard work, all the dancing around the egg shells and the adapting to the circumstances while Fernando bosses him around and complains when things don't turn out exactly conveniently for him. He's one half of that relationship, it's about time he starts making real concessions. That's what relationships are all about, right? Compromise. Or that's what he's heard, anyway.

Xabi is probably going to eat him alive when he finishes this exposition. He'll argue the fuck out of it, call Fernando a thousand different names, accuse him of every possible wrong-doing from here to the sun; he might even use Basque, which is a language Fernando finds very intimidating, especially coming out of Xabi. But, in the end, his boss won't have another plausible option but to accept. The other choice is to fire his best employee. Considering it's Xabi and his ego is almost as great as the gingerness of his beard, there's always a chance he might do it, but he's also a business man, and one who keeps his businessman's brain in check even in amidst raging anger attacks. Having another twelve-ish months of El Niño under his agency is still better than having none.

Assuming he comes out of Xabi's office unscathed, his life will have taken a turn towards... something. It's hard to see the bigger picture just now, but Fernando can feel the winds of change the way birds sense storms coming miles away. Just a small turn for now, a little detour, nothing too brusque, but it's heading towards something. To regular people it might seem like just a small step, but it is certainly a fucking huge leap for him.

Call Sergio, leave him a message, rush off to Xabi and then wait for Sergio's response, as patiently as he can manage. That's the plan.

What really happens, though, is that after the third ring Sergio actually picks up the phone and says "Hey", and it sort of ruins everything. It's just a tiny little word, but it hits Fernando harder than a thump to the head. There's so much packed into those three letters that he just freezes. He knew what he wanted to say to the voice mail - to Sergio? That is a completely different story. 

"Fernando?"

"Uh... Yes," he finally replies, not doing a very good job of hiding the discomfort.

"Everything ok?"

"Uhm... I... Yes."

Sergio is quiet for a moment and then he says, "I can hang up and let you record a message, if you prefer." It sounds like a joke, but there's an awfully cold tune to his voice and Fernando doesn't know if that's just how he sounds, doesn't know if he's forgotten what Sergio's normally like, or if he's really not joking at all.

"No, I - I'm sorry," he tries again. "I just wasn't expecting you to answer."

"Yeah. I didn't mean to either, it just - It's been a while."

"Yeah," he agrees, dull, and his own voice sounds distant to him, wistful. "Feels like a lot longer than a week," he adds.

"It's just been a week?" Sergio asks, genuinely surprised. Fernando pictures his face, the widened eyes and the way he parts his lips and you can see all his bright white teeth, when he looks stunned. Fernando smiles.

"So, uhm... How are you?" 

"Good," Sergio says after a pause. "All things considered. I'm being productive at work, at least."

Fernando opens his mouth to say that yes, being productive at work has definitely been a plus side - if not the _only_ plus side - in spending eight days completely apart. Business was flying. Luckily, he stops himself before anything comes out. It would be the end of that phone call, possibly the end of the whole thing, right there. He keeps forgetting that being productive in his work doesn't carry a good connotation to other people. The entire point of their fight (or the starting point, at least) was because he was being _way_ too dedicated to his job. 

"You ok?" Sergio speaks again, when he doesn't say anything for a while.

"I'm... fine. I guess."

"That's good."

"Yeah."

"So do you have news to share? Seen anything interesting today? Restaurant tips, maybe?" Sergio's tone is light-hearted, Fernando knows he probably means it as a joke of some sort, but it still rubs him the wrong way. If this conversation had happened two weeks ago, he'd be able to laugh. Now, though, it just feels like prickly irony. Especially since restaurant tips really was the theme of one of his messages. Which, coming to think of it now, just sounds absolutely ridiculous.

In his defense, the message was meant to be something on the lines of _'I saw this new place today and thought of you. They're meant to have this really great beef_ borgiñon _, which still sounds ridiculous, but I remember you said you loved it, whatever the hell that is, and I couldn't help but wish we could go together. I really miss you' _. Somehow, though, it ended up more like _'There's this really nice place that opened last month that I think you'll like. They have that ridiculous dish you keep talking about. You should take Cris there. He seems like he enjoys ridiculous dishes.'_. __

__And, well. It was probably for the best that Sergio never replied to his messages. The only possible answer to that one would've been _'You are such an asshole, please, never call me again' _.___ _

____"God, I'm terrible..." he sighs. "I've been acting like a jerk, haven't I?"_ _ _ _

____The sound of chuckles from the other end of the line appeases him for a moment. "A little, yeah," Sergio agrees, but he doesn't sound bitter. "I mean, I liked your phone calls. I listened to all your messages. I wanted to reply, even. Some of them, anyway. Some were just... Frankly, really weird. But I just - I didn't know what to say. I couldn't just... Going back to normalcy felt wrong, I suppose. I was angry at first, 'cause I didn't know what you meant by that - calling me and talking nonsense. I thought you were trying to mock me, somehow. I was sulking and you were fine, that felt... It was bad."_ _ _ _

____"God..." Fernando shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm so sorry, Sergio. It wasn't on purpose, I swear. I meant to talk to you about the serious part, but every time I called I just - I stalled. I couldn't speak. So I started babbling instead about whatever came to my head and I realize now that it was awful. I just... I'm not good at that stuff. But I swear I wasn't mocking you. And I was definitely _not_ fine."_ _ _ _

____"I know. I figured it out, after a while. You don't usually do that even when you _are_ fine."_ _ _ _

____"I'm sorry."_ _ _ _

____"Don't be. It's ok. I liked your phone calls, once I didn't hate them anymore."_ _ _ _

____That's something, Fernando thinks. He's still a jerk, but an adorable one. It's better than being just plain obnoxious, so he'll take it._ _ _ _

____"That's not why I called you today," he starts, after a deep breath. "I have something to say. Something... Important."_ _ _ _

____"... Ok," Sergio hesitates. Fernando can picture him again, sitting up straight, changing the phone from one ear to the other, flexing his fingers out of nervousness. Suddenly he wishes they were face to face instead, looking into each other's eyes as to not leave a single shadow of doubt. He wishes he could touch Sergio and hold his hand and make him _see_ what he means and how much he means it even if what comes out of his mouth doesn't sound 100% right. And just - _God_ , Fernando really misses him._ _ _ _

____"Actually - I was going to leave a message, but I don't think that's - Can we meet?"_ _ _ _

____"Meet?"_ _ _ _

____"Yeah. Can I see you? I think, what I have to say - it's best we talk in person."_ _ _ _

____Sergio doesn't reply immediately, and the pause sends a shiver up Fernando's spine. He can sense all the thorns and the uncertainties, he can almost hear Sergio's thoughts, his brain wiring things on the other end. "Look," Sergio starts what feels like an hour later, and the only thing Fernando can think is that nothing good ever comes after 'Look' in conversations. "If you're going to break up with me... You can just say it, ok? I'd rather we don't have to go through this face to face. We already did it once, practically, and it was not pretty. We don't have to go do that again. So just call it and be done with it."_ _ _ _

____Fernando breathes out loudly in relief, looks up at the ceiling in appreciation for whatever greater force up there has granted him this little grace down here. It would've been embarrassing, to say the least, if he had just gone through the very tough decision of quitting his job for a guy who decided not to wait for him after all._ _ _ _

____"I don't want to break up," he says, decidedly and almost laughing at how ridiculous it sounds, even though he wasn't too far from that when he asked for 'some time'. It's a miracle what seven days apart from something you want more than you've ever wanted anything else in your life teaches you. "It's the opposite. I think we need to talk because - I have something to tell you. It's a good thing, I think. It depends on how you're feeling about me these days."_ _ _ _

____"Oh," Sergio says. "Oh!" he repeats, once it finally hits him. "Are you - Seriously?"_ _ _ _

____"Yup."_ _ _ _

____"Wow, I... Goddamnit, Fernando, I thought it were going to say - Jesus."_ _ _ _

____He lets out a short laugh, although there was nothing funny about it a minute ago when he thought Sergio was going to end things with him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be cryptic."_ _ _ _

____"Good. Not good, but - It's good that it's not what I thought. I feel good about you, by the way. Well, _good_ is not exactly the word. We haven't been _good_. And I was angry. A lot. But I'm not anymore. I guess I mean I feel - I feel the same way about you. It hasn't -"_ _ _ _

____"Sergio," Fernando cuts him off, gently. "I understand."_ _ _ _

____"Right. Sorry."_ _ _ _

____"When can I see you?"_ _ _ _

____"When? Whenever you want. Now? I'm at work, but I can leave."_ _ _ _

____"No, I can't now. I have a meeting with Xabi."_ _ _ _

____"Tonight, then? Dinner?"_ _ _ _

____"I think... Can I come over to yours, maybe? I'm not sure we should be talking about these things in public."_ _ _ _

____"Right. Sure. Of course. I'll cook us something."_ _ _ _

____"Good."_ _ _ _

____"I'll see you tonight, then."_ _ _ _

____He closes his eyes and exhales before answering, "See you," and finishing the phone call. It takes him a few seconds to realize he has a goofy smile the size of the world plastered on his face._ _ _ _

____How fast things seem to have fallen back into familiar territory for the two of them... One short phone call and Sergio's already cooking him dinner. God, he really missed this! Sergio's voice, the phone calls, the dates, the promise of good homemade meals... Most of all, he missed the promise of Sergio. The knowledge that something extraordinary will be waiting for him at the end of the day, like a reward. Fernando hadn't realized how much that had kept him going during the months they spent together. He wasted so much time seeing only the bad parts, thinking exclusively about all the ways in which giving in to Sergio would complicate things, that he failed to notice Sergio simply made his life better. Not being all alone anymore, that in itself was better than all the bad parts._ _ _ _

____If Fernando wasn't so determined to put things right with Sergio and start over on the right foot, he could give Stevie a kiss for giving him a due push and making this whole thing happen. Fernando's not sure he would've had the guts to do it if it wasn't for him._ _ _ _

____He'll have to think of another way to thank Stevie, though._ _ _ _

____x-x-x-x_ _ _ _

____"This is unexpected," Xabi says as he takes a seat across from Fernando. He leans back on his big black chair and smiles a smile that is a little too unfamiliar on Xabi Alonso's face. The reason Fernando finds it weird is because it's genuine. He can see all the crinkles around Xabi's eyes and, come to think of it, his hair looks a little disheveled and his tie is a bit askew and he's... Relaxed. Light-hearted. Very un-Xabi-esque._ _ _ _

____Fernando cocks him an eyebrow. "I called you to say I was coming over."_ _ _ _

____"To what do I owe the honor of your visit?"_ _ _ _

____"You look awfully chipper," Fernando muses. Xabi lets out a snort that sounds too much like a laughter he's trying to contain. "Did you have sex?"_ _ _ _

____"Whatever do you mean by that?"_ _ _ _

____"Well, you seem... Well-shagged."_ _ _ _

____"Do I?" The grin stretches out into a smirk. "Is it a good look?"_ _ _ _

____"Yeah, actually. I don't think I've ever seen you like that," Fernando says, and then adds, "Does that mean you went for six years without sex? Because that would explain a lot."_ _ _ _

____"Wouldn't you like to know?" Xabi answers, vaguely, after a bit of a laughter. Then he crosses one leg over the other and goes back to business as always. "Why are you here, Fernando? I was very surprised when you called, I thought I wouldn't be seeing you for at least another two or three days. Isn't Magical Mystery Dick in town?"_ _ _ _

____It takes Fernando a moment to realize he's talking about Stevie. "You can use his name, you know," he replies._ _ _ _

____"Oh, I know. I just prefer not to be on first name basis with that gentleman."_ _ _ _

____"You know, you should meet him some time. I should probably organize a dinner or something. Maybe trick you two into showing up at the same place at the same time without knowing what's really in store. I'd like to see that happen one day."_ _ _ _

____"Have you been getting ideas from Parent Trap lately?"_ _ _ _

____"That would be awkward, 'cause if this was Parent Trap it would imply that you and Stevie are my parents. I can see how you would maybe fit in as the evil stepmother, but Stevie - definitely not a parent."_ _ _ _

____"I'm sure you can find a way around that. Incest is scoring high at the porn channels these days."_ _ _ _

____"I'm going to pretend you didn't just make an awful incest joke because that's really beneath your class. But you would be surprised."_ _ _ _

____"By the incest?"_ _ _ _

____"No. By how much you'd actually like Stevie. You two are always bickering over the phone, and then he mocks you from afar, and you mock him back, but actually, when I stop to think about it, I don't see why the two of you wouldn't make good friends. Stevie is into all the posh crap that you like. He even dresses like you. You'd have a lot to talk about. Like... Ties and indie music. He'd quickly become your number one client."_ _ _ _

____"He doesn't pay you enough to be my number one client. And if I didn't know better, I'd think you're trying to set me up with him."_ _ _ _

____Fernando frowns, because God forbid Stevie and Xabi ever do end up together in a room in any capacity other than entertaining him. He shakes his head then, and, just to emphasize his point, waves his hands in the air as well. "Definitely not."_ _ _ _

____Xabi chuckles. "So, what happened?"_ _ _ _

____Right. There's that. The reason why he came out to see Xabi today. Fernando has been dreading this conversation from the moment he stepped out of his apartment this morning. No matter how many times he practiced the words in his head, rehearsed all the answers to all the obvious questions (or accusations) Xabi might have, it still doesn't sound good. Nothing makes him confident. However... Xabi seems to be in a rather unforeseen blithe mood. Maybe he did get thoroughly laid. Maybe he just made a lot of money. Maybe he had a dentist appointment and is still under the influence of the anesthetic. Whatever it is, it has to be a good sign. He's never seen Xabi looking this laid-back. He was _humoring_ Fernando about Stevie, for God's sake. That has definitely never happened before. All Xabi has for Stevie is resentment for ruining his business schedule and a lot of sarcasm. If there's ever a good time to talk to the man about a subject as delicate as retirement, it has to be now._ _ _ _

____"Nothing happened," Fernando starts, shifting a little in his seat. "Not exactly. It's just - I was thinking about - Well, a lot of things, really."_ _ _ _

____"You're rambling," Xabi interrupts him._ _ _ _

____"I'll get to the point," he says, fiercely, putting a palm out in the air asking for time. Xabi just smiles. "I made a decision," he goes again. "I decided that I want to have fewer clients."_ _ _ _

____Xabi arches him his eyebrows - not angry or judgmental, not yet, just... Surprised. Possibly confused. "Come again?" he asks._ _ _ _

____"I've been doing this for a long time," Fernando explains, just as he had practiced. "And I obviously can't do it forever. I like my job, I really do - you know that better than anyone. But at some point I have to start thinking about the future. That point is now. I want to ease my way into retirement."_ _ _ _

____"Retirement?" Xabi repeats, suddenly sounding a lot more like his normal self than a moment ago. "You just turned 30, Fernando. You have at least another 10 years, if not more. The freckles make you look younger."_ _ _ _

____Fernando rolls his eyes at him because - well, it gets exhausting hearing about the freckles and his boyish look all the time. It's not exactly untrue, but he could do with getting rid of that stupid label. Not that his work name does anything to help in that department, anyway - _El Niño_. That was an unfortunate choice. One obviously not made by him._ _ _ _

____"They might make me _look_ younger, but they don't make me _feel_ any younger, Xabi. Thirty is not exactly _young_ in our world, especially since I've been in it for a very long time. Soon enough you'll have to start lying about my age to the clients. Nobody wants to pay to fuck a 30-something. I find that offensive, to be honest."_ _ _ _

____"Since when?"_ _ _ _

____"Since _always_. It's pathetic having to fake your own age just to get clients."_ _ _ _

____"Not if you look ten years younger than you are. It's complimentary that they buy it," Xabi adds, with a smile._ _ _ _

____"I _hardly_ look ten years younger. And that's not the point anyway," Fernando says, a little annoyance seeping through. "The point is, I want to start doing more with my life."_ _ _ _

____"Like what?"_ _ _ _

____"Like... I don't know. I haven't thought about specifics yet."_ _ _ _

____"Seems like you could use some more time, then."_ _ _ _

____"Xabi," Fernando admonishes. "Stop patronizing me. It was always part of the deal that I would only do this for as long as I wanted to. I've been here for almost ten years now. I'm very grateful for everything you've done for me, but this is my decision. I'm gonna cut off some clients and I want more free time from now on. I'll be more selective and in a year's time, give or take, I'd like to be retired from the escorting world. Preferably with your blessing, but that's not a requirement."_ _ _ _

____The second he stops talking, all Fernando wants to do is get up and get out of there. He managed to keep his voice steady-ish and to sound moderately resolute, which he hopes is enough to convince Xabi that he means business, but Xabi's poker face is famously terrifying. His eyes are inscrutable and deep and you just _know_ there are all sorts of things going through his head, possibly dangerous things, but you just can't tell, and that makes Fernando apprehensive. Just holding Xabi's stare levelly is a challenge and he's about to break any second now._ _ _ _

____"Ok," the other man finally speaks after a moment, still perfectly unreadable. Weather 'okay' is good or bad is hard to tell. "I don't like it," he states, pensively. "But I can understand."_ _ _ _

____Fernando blinks a few times. "Really?" he asks, unsure he heard it correctly._ _ _ _

____"To be perfectly honest, I've thought about that a few times myself. I was wondering how much longer you'd be willing to continue. I hoped it would be a few years until we had to sit down for this talk, but... When it's time, it's time."_ _ _ _

____"Uh, it's... Correct. Right, I mean. It's time."_ _ _ _

____"Nothing to be done about it then," Xabi shrugs, none too happily, mind you, but compliant nonetheless. "Fewer clients. We can work with that."_ _ _ _

____"Ok. Good. That's... Good." Fernando doesn't really know what to say. He didn't expect it to be so easy, so he came armed with only the big guns, completely unprepared _not_ to have to battle to get his way. It's hard to tell if he's more uneasy or grateful right now. Something about how fast Xabi accepted his request doesn't quite sit right, but he's not about to start making questions, lest the other man changes his mind._ _ _ _

____"So which clients would you like me to ditch?" Xabi asks, pulling out one of his little black notebooks, where he keeps all the names that make him rich. "Not the most profitable ones, I hope."_ _ _ _

____"No, not those ones," Fernando agrees, because - well, he wants to quit, but he's not stupid. If he's going to start dropping clients, he'll surely start with the ones that pay him _less_. The more money he can put together before leaving, the better._ _ _ _

____"Wonderful. I'll make a list with pros and cons of each of your current clients and run the names by you, see what you think."_ _ _ _

____"That sounds... Great."_ _ _ _

____"I was about to call you, anyway," he continues. "It's good that you stopped by, actually. José called. He has another party scheduled for next week and he wants me to confirm your presence."_ _ _ _

____And that - That just fucks everything up, doesn't it? For a second there Fernando completely forgot that _the_ most profitable client on his list is his boyfriend's stepfather, which makes him the first name to be dropped. Except he's also the MVP of Xabi's little black book. So this, right here, is where the real problem lies. How do you tell a short-tempered agent that you are, from now on, refusing to amuse the greatest source of his fortune?_ _ _ _

____"I uh..." Fernando starts, looking down and away. "I heard Mourinho wanted the new boy, Hazard," he ventures._ _ _ _

____"He does. But only as an appetizer to his guests. He's never actually Eden. You're his personal escort, the one he trusts with the important things, and you know there's always something big happening in his parties. Eden has a long way to go before he can earn José's trust, and you know what he's like with those things."_ _ _ _

____Fernando nods in understanding, but still doesn't look up. And then, after a beat, he says, "I'm not taking José anymore. He's one of the names I want dropped, so you're gonna have to make him take Hazard." Words come out of his mouth tumbling one over the other, all in one breath, so fast Fernando wonders if Xabi even understood what he said. He hopes to God the answer is yes, because repeating that, _slowly_ , is not going to be easy._ _ _ _

____The look Xabi gives him right then answers his doubt, though. It's - a lot of things, actually. Dark, angry, judgmental, threatening, even hurt, a little. It's all of that and some more. But it's not surprised. Not even a bit. Almost like he knew this was coming - like he'd been _daring_ Fernando to go there, which suddenly puts the ease with which he accepted the retirement proposal under a new light._ _ _ _

____"You are completely out of your mind," Xabi says with such calmness that Fernando holds his breath for a second. Calm Xabi is the worst Xabi._ _ _ _

____"I want to leave because I can't take this mad rhythm anymore. It's been months since I last saw Mourinho and I've come to realize I'm not into his parties anymore. It's too exhausting. Things are very hectic, I sometimes have to do a lot of people in one night. Frankly, I just don't have the energy anymore," he tries, and it's only half a lie. Even before Sergio Fernando was starting to feel out of tune for José's crazy business-driven orgies. Younger boys and girls get mesmerized by the amount of money and weird entertainment going on all around, but not an old soldier like Fernando, who's been there and done that more times than he can remember. It's true that if it wasn't for Sergio he probably would never have the balls to turn Mourinho down, for more than just one reason. But he's not being entirely misleading when he says he's tired of all that. If anything, he only met Sergio that night at his stepfather's penthouse because he'd been desperately trying to get out of the horny old men's radar for a while._ _ _ _

____"You make more money in one night with José than you do in an entire week with ten other clients, Fernando."_ _ _ _

____"I know."_ _ _ _

____" _I_ make more money with José."_ _ _ _

____"And you don't have to stop. Just sell him some other boy. Do the same thing you did with me. You're good at that."_ _ _ _

____Xabi stops, bites on his lower lip, like keeping himself from losing his temper right there and then, and then shake his head. "I don't think you understand exactly what you're asking, Fernando. José doesn't deal well with rejection. If I tell him you're not available to him anymore, you're going to be making an enemy out of a very powerful man. He brought you a lot of your clients and he could take them all away too. He can make your life hell."_ _ _ _

____Fernando swallows down hard and does his best to pretend the threats are doing nothing to him, albeit it being a fat lie. He's terrified. Not just for himself, but for Sergio as well. And even, maybe, for Xabi, who's a fox and knows how to handle displeased prima donnas, but still. In spite of all the pondering, weighting and evaluating of the night before, Fernando did not go through this part - the bit where Mourinho is more than just rich and powerful, but also a semi-mobster._ _ _ _

____"I know," Fernando repeats, and then he clears his throat, tries again, with more conviction this time. "I'm aware of all that, Xabi. You can blame it all on me, if you want. Tell him I'm sick, or that I'm... Doing something else. Tell him I said no. I don't care. If you want to tell him the truth, that's fine. I'll deal with it."_ _ _ _

____"The truth, you say. Are you sure you want me to tell him the truth?" Xabi asks, eyebrows arched in pure irony. "I'm not sure he'll react very well to finding out the reason his favorite prostitute doesn't want to see him anymore is because he is _fucking his son_."_ _ _ _

____Xabi's words cut through the air like a whip. Fernando nearly chokes, momentarily thrown and unsure what to answer. "How did you..." he tries, failing to complete his sentence. An almost panicked expression flits across his face, and he knows Xabi caught that because he snorts and shakes his head a little, condescending at the very least._ _ _ _

____"Don't look so surprised, Fernando. Honestly, what do you think I am? I wouldn't have lasted so long in this business if I couldn't outsmart everyone working for me. How long did you expect to keep sleeping with one of my most important client's son without my knowledge?"_ _ _ _

____Fernando can feel his heart beating on the back of his throat, threatening to come out. It's hard to talk like this, even harder to hear his own thoughts with the pounding in his ears. Suddenly his sharp-thinking and decision-making abilities are all failing him, because he doesn't know whether to deny it all or run away screaming or call Sergio and tell him to hide from his father or what. Obviously he expected Xabi to have more than a few tricks under his sleeve, but _this_? It's too much. There's no way he could've been ready for this blow. _ _ _ _

____"How did you find out?" he asks, voice only above a whisper._ _ _ _

____"I find the _how_ to be completely irrelevant, but if you want to know... I had you followed, of course. You didn't fool me for a second with that bullshit story you gave me. Forgot to take payment? You don't do that. If it was Cesc and his woozy head I might have believed, but not you. I knew there was something going on straight away. At first I thought you were going behind my back and dealing by yourself again - and I was prepared to rip your head off for that. But then... Then I realized I was looking at it all wrong. You weren't just keeping all the money to yourself, you weren't taking anything _at all_."_ _ _ _

____"He was never my client."_ _ _ _

____"But he was. He called me here to schedule a meeting with you, more than once. You met him during a job, at his father's penthouse. Which - honestly, how can you do that? Go out with José's _son_? You slept with his father more times than I can remember. Doesn't he care about that?"_ _ _ _

____Fernando bites on the inside of his lip, hard enough to draw a little blood. All the tension and the shuddering at the pit of his stomach are replaced by clear, burning rage. What he wants to do right now is get his fist in the middle of Xabi's smug face, because he, of all people, does not get to talk to him like that. Xabi may be a luxury pimp, but that's still what he is, a pimp. He does _not_ get to lecture Fernando as though he's so above all of that, so much better than the lot of them; like he's not making money out of whoring out people. If anything, he's even worse than the rest of them. At least he and the other boys are selling their own bodies, not making fortunes out of exploiting anyone else. _ _ _ _

____If Xabi's strategy was to annoy Fernando into submission, convince him that he's about to do the wrong thing, then his plans just went very wrong. There's this whole new bubble of determination growing inside of Fernando now, fiery and strong. Xabi somehow seems to notice his failure, because his patronizing expression smooths into stoicism again._ _ _ _

____"I thought you were smarter than that, Fernando," he says. "Falling in love like a school boy... How long do you think his infatuation will last? You're probably exciting for him now, of course. You're new, you're his father's play thing, which is a plus. I know the two of them don't get along, so I imagine young Sergio is having a blast, taking a bite out of the forbidden fruit. But don't kid yourself, Fernando. As soon as the high wears off, he's gonna leave you behind, move on with his privileged, rich boy's life and he'll never look back."_ _ _ _

____And that - it causes Fernando to maybe flinch a little, because it strikes a chord. If he doesn't say those thoughts have consumed many of his nights, he'll be lying. Until a mere day before, that's exactly the idea he made of Sergio and their relationship, until Stevie went and talked him out of it. Hearing it from someone else, someone who seems to be so certain of it, is disquieting, to say the least._ _ _ _

____In spite of all that, though, what he does or doesn't do with Sergio is still his decision only and not Xabi's to make. Xabi's nerve to suddenly make this whole thing about him, like he's the center of the fucking universe, is exasperating and irksome._ _ _ _

____"I don't care," Fernando replies, standing up to his feet in defiance. "You do not own me, Xabi. Everything I owed you I've paid back, and more. You do not get to tell me how to live my personal life. I'm the only one who decides what to do with it."_ _ _ _

____"You're making a stupid decision and I'm pointing that out to you. Someone ought to."_ _ _ _

____"Why is it stupid? Because it affects your business?"_ _ _ _

____"Because it affects _yours_ , you idiot," Xabi retorts, real heat in his voice this time. "By the time you get your ass kicked, you'll have nothing. No boyfriend, no clients, no job. You're about to give up on something that's been your whole life for - what? A _romance_? You _sell_ love for a living, Fernando. You can't honestly tell me that you'd fall for something so stupid. Love doesn't conquer all, it doesn't solve all your problems, doesn't lift you up where you belong. Love _ruins_ your life. It's a marketing stunt, not a life-saver."_ _ _ _

____For just a fleeting second there Fernando sees something akin to remorse crossing through Xabi's face. His bitterness seems to be coming from somewhere deep within, as though he's talking out of experience, rather than simple selfishness. But it's so fast that it's impossible to tell whether what he saw was real or just a wrong impression. So he ignores it and ploughs on. "I'm not giving up on anything for romance, I'm giving up for _me_. _I_ want something different for myself, something _more_. If what I want is Sergio or not, I will find out in time. But I can tell what I _don't_ want: I don't want you meddling in my life and I don't want to be here anymore."_ _ _ _

____"What does your other boyfriend think of that? Have you told precious _Stevie_ that you want to quit? Or are you keeping him in the dark and maybe staying as his mistress? That would be a nice change, wouldn't it? _He_ would become _your_ lover, not the other way around."_ _ _ _

____Fernando fixes the other man with a strained and venomous smile, snorting. "You think you know me so well, don't you?"_ _ _ _

____"I don't. But you're not so different from all the other whores I've ever worked with as you think you are, Fernando. You think your story is _unique_? I might not know you, but I know a thing or two about this job and how cruel life can be. They don't stay, Fernando." Xabi stares so deeply into his eyes as he says the words, in a measured and clipped tone, it's impossible to look away. "You're a pretty boy and you know what you do. They all love that until they don't. You're not the first and you certainly won't be the last. This is a friendly advice."_ _ _ _

____"Yeah, well. I didn't ask for your advice. I came here merely to inform you, not to hear your opinion. It's my life, I'll do whatever the bloody fuck I want with it. Even if everything turns out wrong in the end, it will still be none of your business," he states, speaking in a clear, forceful voice. "Tell Mourinho about us or don't, that's your choice. Want to screw me up? Go right ahead. That'll just show what a selfish asshole you are. But it's not going to change anything. I'm not seeing him anymore and if it's the douchebag card you want to play, then just go right ahead and fire me right now."_ _ _ _

____This is not the way he wanted things to go - fighting Xabi, possibly ending their friendship, of whatever it is that they had, on such bad terms. He didn't want to sound like an ungrateful bastard; Xabi really did open a lot of doors for him and transformed his career. But if that's what it takes, then so be it. It's about time he starts doing things for himself, not for his agent or for his family. He's never wanted anything for his own sake the way he wants Sergio. And if anything, Xabi's resistance has just made him more certain of that._ _ _ _

____"You're going to regret this," Xabi warns, a quiet fury simmering beneath his words._ _ _ _

____"Don't worry. I'll write you a post card when it happens."_ _ _ _

____Fernando doesn’t wait for Xabi to prolong the argument, mostly because he doesn't think he's got anything else to say. Those are his terms, now it's up to his boss to either take it or leave it. He shows himself out and decides to head back home for the time being._ _ _ _

____Half of him expects to receive a call from Mourinho any minute now. Fernando doesn't want to believe that Xabi would go as far as to fuck him up like that, out of sheer spite. They have never been exactly the best of pals or confidents in any capacity, but they were close. Ish. They had a bond of some sort. Like mutual admiration and respect. Xabi didn't approve of everything he did, but he understood and he accepted. Fernando didn't think Xabi always acted with his best interests at heart, but he assumed there was a limit he'd never cross. He's about to find out if that's true, he supposes._ _ _ _

____The thing is, though, if it really turns out that Fernando's been wrong about Xabi all this time, then _fucked_ doesn't even begin to cover his situation._ _ _ _

____He considers calling Sergio to share the latest news with him, but it's hard to come up with an appropriate way of doing it. _'Hi, babe. So, your stepfather might know about us, but don't worry. If we leave the country now, we might still make it.'_ _ _ _ _

____It's an important thing information. Relevant, one. Game-changing, even. He can't withhold it from Sergio. Whatever happens, he should be prepared. It's just... They haven't even properly made up yet. As far as Fernando's concerned, they're not back together. If he drops the bomb now, then... How will Sergio react? Will his opinion change? Will he still want to be with Fernando if Mourinho knows about them? He might disinherit Sergio, or tell his mother and force him to break things up between the two of them. He could ship Sergio over to a different country under some stupid excuse. He could definitely use the threat of violence to get things his way. They might not get along, Sergio and José, but they're still family. How much is Sergio willing to bet for a prostitute? Should Fernando even want him to risk losing everything - his family, his fortune, his job?_ _ _ _

____There are so many things swirling through his mind just then that Fernando can't even focus, nearly tripping on his own legs as he walks. He should go home, take a nap, and try to relax a little. Maybe getting a bit drunk would help. Not too much, just... Enough to loosen up a bit. Lose a bit of that sense of terror and urgency that's consuming him at the moment._ _ _ _

____Just when you think the hardest part is over... Murphy wasn't fucking around when he made that law._ _ _ _

____x-x-x_ _ _ _

____After much debate - most of it happening only in his head, parts of it happening with Stevie over the phone - Fernando decides on a course of action. The conversation with Xabi turned out much worse than he had anticipated, but it was also, maybe, good, in the sense that it brought to his attention parts of the equation that he had previously overlooked, like how vindictive Mourinho might get or how Sergio might just remove everything off the table if his stepfather finds out about them. With all that to be considered, he couldn't just head over to Sergio's apartment empty-handed. Fernando needed a plan._ _ _ _

____What he had in mind was very simple: honesty. You can't go wrong with that, right? His idea was to just be very straightforward with Sergio about the possibility of José finding out about them in a very short while through Xabi. And then they'd go on from there, depending on how well (or how bad) Sergio reacted to the news. It's not just about the two of them and their determination to commit to a relationship and make it work anymore. Now they need to figure whether they're ready, or even if they want to be ready at all, to take the blow, in case it ever comes swinging their way._ _ _ _

____It's a lot to discuss and a lot to think about, so Fernando prepared himself for a long and terrible conversation, with a likely bad ending._ _ _ _

____What actually happens, however, is that he barely has any time to even mention anything other than 'Hello'._ _ _ _

____Almost the second they lay eyes on each other, Sergio wraps his arms around Fernando and starts mumbling things in rapid succession. Fernando doesn't really get half of it, but he doesn't think it matters anyway. The meaning behind these incoherent words is very clear. And because it's also mutual - he misses Sergio like hell, he _loves_ Sergio like hell, he's so, _so_ sorry for acting like an idiot and wasting time they could've spent being happy and together by being miserable and apart just because he couldn't get his head out of his ass - Fernando doesn't stop him, doesn't even dare to try and bring up the nasty subject of the night._ _ _ _

____Once they start kissing, there's really no going back anymore. Sergio's skin burns against his and it's impossible not to touch him, not to taste him. It's been a little over a week, but it certainly feels like a lot more. Maybe because, inwardly, Fernando knows they've been going through a rough patch for a lot longer than the time they spent officially on a break. It's electric, being close together again, and when he feels Sergio's heart beating under his fingers, under his mouth, he honestly thinks he doesn't need anything else in his life, ever._ _ _ _

____They fuck like two teenagers: horny and desperate and so, so eager. Fernando doesn't think he's had sex quite like this in a very long time, and for someone like him that is saying something. There has never been a moment in his life when he's felt as overwhelmed by feelings during sex this way, he's certainly never been as much in love with anyone else the way he is with Sergio. Fernando doesn't think he's ever seen anyone quite as beautiful as Sergio, cheeks flushed, skin glowing with sweat, eyes sparkling with joy and arousal and affection, mumbling things under his breath as he pushes into Fernando. It's perfection, or as close to it as there can ever be. Suddenly, nothing else matters anymore. Not his fears of quitting his job, not Xabi's acrimony, not even José and all the menace he poses. Nothing can beat this moment right here, and Fernando doesn't want to think about anything else, doesn't want to talk about anything else. All he wants is to live forever in this glorious moment._ _ _ _

____They lie together for a long time afterwards, just breathing in each other's scents as they fight to regain their breaths. Sergio's staring at him with a sort of adoration that Fernando doesn't think he deserves, but that brushes aside any tiny shade of uncertainty he still had in him._ _ _ _

____"For a while there I didn't think this would ever happen again," Sergio murmurs, after a while. The mere sound of his voice, still husky and lazy, is striking chords connected straight to Fernando's heart. An entire week listening to voice mail made him yearn to hear those beautiful vowels being whispered next to his ear again. "I didn't think you'd ever come back."_ _ _ _

____Fernando doesn't want to say that he didn't think he would either and end up ruining the moment. They'll have enough time to get back to it later. "I'm here now," he replies instead. "It doesn't matter anymore."_ _ _ _

____Sergio smiles, short and content. "I thought Xabi would lock you up today."_ _ _ _

____"He might have considered," Fernando answers after a short laugh. The thought really did cross his mind, and it wouldn't exactly be beyond Xabi either._ _ _ _

____"So... What exactly did you tell him?"_ _ _ _

____"Well..." Fernando starts, sighing. He has to say, it is so much better to be talking about this in bed than it would've been to just sit around a table and try not to be awkward. "Basically, that I want to start easing my way into retirement. I'll be taking less clients from now on and that will give Xabi time to find someone to replace me." Sergio arches his eyebrows at him, surprised. That part should've been the first subject between the two of them tonight, but it simply got kicked aside by how much they needed to make up for the lost time._ _ _ _

____"Retirement?" Sergio repeats, incredulous. "Are you serious?"_ _ _ _

____Fernando smiles shortly and nods. "Pretty serious."_ _ _ _

____"How long from now?"_ _ _ _

____"I don't know yet. I gave Xabi a year, but it could be less than that, if we have a smooth transition," Fernando shrugs. "I could've just told him I'd be dropping everything off right now, but it didn't seem right. I still have things I need to finish and I think I owe Xabi at least some time to prepare. It wouldn't really look good for him to have to inform everyone all of a sudden that I'm not taking anyone anymore."_ _ _ _

____"Of course," Sergio nods. "I... I don't know what to say. When you said you had good news I thought - Well, I certainly didn't think you would _quit_."_ _ _ _

____"That's what you wanted, right?"_ _ _ _

____"I know, but..." Sergio trails off for a moment, shifts to lie on his side. "I didn't mean to put that kind of pressure on you. I was very upset then, and after the dust settled I realized I wasn't being completely fair to you. I thought about telling you that, but - you asked me for some time, so I figured I should let you have your time. Besides, I was bitter."_ _ _ _

____"I know," Fernando replies, turning to stay face to face with Sergio. "I'm sorry. I was... Confused. Being away from you was terrible, but it was good in the sense that it made me realize what I really wanted."_ _ _ _

____"Are you sure you want to quit?"_ _ _ _

____Fernando frowns. "What kind of question is that? You should be supporting me, not making me second guess my decision."_ _ _ _

____Sergio smiles at him. "I just don't want you to do anything that you'll regret. I _really_ want you to quit, but I understand if it's maybe too soon. I don't want you to feel like I'm forcing you into a situation. I want you to be comfortable, Nando."_ _ _ _

____"I'm comfortable right now," he says, touching Sergio's face with the tip of his fingers and caressing his cheeks._ _ _ _

____"Good." The other man turns his face slightly to the side, just enough to place a kiss on Fernando's hand. "Was Xabi ok with that?"_ _ _ _

____Fernando shrugs. "I owe him nothing. It was my decision, he just had to accept it."_ _ _ _

____"Well, I -" Sergio's cut off by the sound of the door bell ringing. He frowns a little, Fernando just cocks him an eyebrow._ _ _ _

____"Are you waiting for someone?" he asks._ _ _ _

____"Not that I know of. It's probably just one of the neighbors." Sergio shrugs it off and moves a little closer to him, placing one of his knees between Fernando's legs. "I was saying -" The doorbell rings again._ _ _ _

____"Seems like they're really keen."_ _ _ _

____"God... Bloody neighbors," Sergio mumbles as he starts to get up. "I'm just gonna scare them off. Be back in a second. Don't move."_ _ _ _

____He puts on his pants and leaves the bedroom door open as he goes to the living room. Fernando smiles, spreading himself out on Sergio's nice sheets like a cat. And to think was so anxious coming here earlier... He frankly feels a bit stupid now. In fact, Fernando feels stupid for a lot of things. How could he ever consider not being with Sergio? How could he ever think that it was _wrong_ to quit his job for this? It's hard to even imagine feeling this comfortable and this happy around someone else. Not even with Stevie things were ever this way. Stevie was a good job that turned into something else, but there was always money involved and, regardless of how highly Fernando regards the other man, there was always an obvious gap between them. Stevie is a married man with a public image to maintain; Fernando was and still is his dirty little secret, even if he always had the decency of not treating Fernando that way. Lord Finnan, Frank, Daniel and Martin... They're great clients. Fernando will probably miss them in the future, will certainly think fondly of the time they spent together and have some very good memories of all the fun they shared. But that's all there will ever be: good memories. No warmth, no companionship. They never even knew his name._ _ _ _

____Sergio looks at him in a way no one else ever has. He sees the person beyond his very controversial occupation; he's taken time to dig holes in Fernando's walls and reach further than anyone else before. So what if he has to make a few potentially risky concessions? Isn't that what life is all about, anyway? Certain things are just -_ _ _ _

____" _Get the fuck out, right now_!"_ _ _ _

____Fernando is pulled out of his lazy musing by the sound of Sergio's voice thundering across the apartment. What the hell are those neighbors doing if he's yelling at them like that?_ _ _ _

____Slowly, he sits up in bed and tries to listen more clearly. Fernando can't really identify everything that is being said, can hardly even hear the voice of the other person beyond a few unintelligible mumbles, but it's easy to notice that there's an argument happening. Frowning, the Spaniard disentangles himself from the sheets to get out of bed, pulling on his jeans and leaving the room. Sergio's voice gets louder as he moves towards the living room._ _ _ _

____Could it be that his neighbors found out about him and are complaining about the presence of a prostitute in the building? It wouldn't be the first time. Frankly, Fernando usually enjoys it all the better when he knows people are bothered by his presence. But right now it could be an issue; this isn't just a client he'll be visiting every month or so, after all._ _ _ _

____Craning his neck before interrupting, he notices Sergio standing by the door, pointing fingers at whoever is outside and clearly trying to keep his voice down, although obviously failing at times. He's visibly irritated, a monstrous difference from the laid-back and relaxed post-orgasmic Sergio of just a minute before._ _ _ _

____"I never said you were welcome here, so _get the fuck out_ or I'll call the police," he hisses._ _ _ _

____"Sergio?" Fernando finally joins him in the living room. "Is everything all right?"_ _ _ _

____The look Sergio sends him just the is... Panicked, in the absence of a better word. Almost terrified. Concerned to the core. This prompts Fernando to frown in confusion. "What's wrong?" he asks._ _ _ _

____And that's when everything finally makes sense. Distracted by Fernando's presence, Sergio stops blocking the door and the person who was standing outside finally walks in. Flashing an one thousand watts smile and very elegantly dressed in a blue suit is José Mourinho._ _ _ _

____"There he is," Mourinho says, beaming at a completely dumbfounded Fernando. "Hello, Niño! You were just the one I was looking for."_ _ _ _


	11. José

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooookay! So. This is - I believe - a controversial chapter. Needless to say, I'm really anxious about knowing your opinions. It's a big twist in the story, but one that's been planned for a while! Don't worry, we're still a few chapters away from the finale... Still, you might have opinions, and I'd love to read your reactions! :)
> 
> I messed with the chapter so many times I can't even. Finally I decided I can't deal with this bitch anymore, so I left it as it is and let Jesus take the wheel. I hope you guys enjoy it. :)
> 
> Also, this chapter hasn't been beta'ed and it's four in the morning exactly, so please forgive me for any mistakes you might find. It's always important to remember English is not my first language! So, so sorry! :(

_"Hello, Niño! Just the one I was looking for!"_

There is a lion in the room and he has just set his eyes on his next preys. The glint in the lion's eyes speak of a hunger that knows no boundaries; he wants to tear them apart limb by limb and savor the taste of their fear and despair, deeply ingrained in the preys' flesh. He wants to have their hearts still beating in his mouth as he rips their chests open.

Fernando closes his eyes for a moment and breathes. He can't tell himself that everything will be all right, but he's at least able to hold on to the knowledge that it will all be over soon.

There's a pause on both sides, the lion's and the preys', as they try to collect themselves, assimilate the moment. The Portuguese's presence got Fernando momentarily thrown. He did expect the man to come to him at some point in the near future, but he didn't think it would happen this fast.

Apparently Xabi wasted no time picking sides. Fernando finds himself honestly a bit heartbroken. Xabi was never really a friend in the most literal sense of the world, but there was always a certain camaraderie between them. They were partners. Xabi had his back. Or that's what he thought, anyway. Now he sees that the only back Xabi's ever had was his own. The minute Fernando stepped on his toes and became more of a problem than an asset, he did not hesitate before throwing him to the lions. If that is his idea of teaching a lesson, then he got it all very wrong.

Fernando feels honestly stupid for thinking he could trust Xabi's moral compass. Not only did he risk his own neck, but now Sergio's is also on the line of fire. And to think he had all the time in the world to prepare his lover the collision course... They could've come up with a plan, maybe even an escape route. They could be miles away from here by now, far enough that Mourinho's fangs wouldn't be a threat. Instead, they're both cornered, like two mice in a snake tank. 

On the other side, however... Had he interrupted Sergio's advances to tell him about Mourinho, the mood would've been completely butchered. The hour or so they spent together just now might as well have been their last moment of happiness together. It's not nearly good enough, but it appeases Fernando somehow. Whatever comes next, they'll always have those memories. 

It's an observation game - Mourinho studies them from the door, they watch him closely from a few steps away, feeling the tension in the air like electricity. Fernando almost doesn't want to pry his eyes away from Mourinho, afraid he might attack the second he lets his guard down, but he wants to find Sergio, wants to know if he's scared or worried or what. And what he finds there is - Sergio, he's no cornered animal. He's got his claws out and is not at all afraid to use it. The man is all wrath. There's a fire burning behind his eyes Fernando doesn't think he's ever seen before. 

Fernando places a comforting hand on his lover's shoulder, pulls him closer a little, just enough to remind him that they are in this together. "It's all right," he murmurs.

"All right?" comes the angry rejoinder. "There's nothing all right about this man barging into my apartment."

"Do you see, Fernando? I can call you Fernando, right? Now that we're family," Mourinho says, irony bleeding onto his words. Every line of José's body screams of arrogance. He's _enjoying_ this. The sound of his own name in that man's thick accent hits Fernando like a blow. It sounds vile and biting and also like a threat. _I know who you are, I can ruin your life_.

Telling José about his real name seems too low even for someone like Xabi. Fernando prefers to believe, for the purposes of keeping his sanity in check during a moment of extreme crisis, that Mourinho discovered this information through minute background checks he likely ordered before having _El Niño_ over at his penthouse. His identity is not something Fernando advertises, of course, but, for someone truly determined, it's not really that hard to uncover either. But a name is just the tip of the iceberg here. If he knows who Fernando Torres is, what else does he know?

With the right amount of information in hand, Mourinho really can destroy his life. And to think Xabi's the one behind all this - it's just too much. 

"This is how the man I raised as my own child treats me," Mourinho continues after a moment. "I never wanted anything more than your love, Sergio."

"You son of a -"

" _Sergio_. Don't. It's not worth it." Fernando holds the other man back, fingers closing firmly around his arms. Granted, Fernando would love to get his own fist in the middle of that asshole's pretentious face, break a few teeth, maybe - and he fancies his chances against an older, shorter and weaker man would be pretty high. However, he's not so far gone yet that he can't fathom the consequences of following the wishes of his heart - or of allowing Sergio to do so. Nothing is ever so bad that it can't get worse. That is an important thing to have in mind right now.

On his part, Mourinho seems very confident that no one will make a move on him. It verges on sadism how much José is amused by all this. It's his _son_ he's fighting here, for God's sake. He is basically the only father figure Sergio has ever really known. It's one thing not to get along, many families don't, but to be this terrible to each other? 

Up until now, Fernando couldn't really understand just how fucked up their relationship really is, even with all the obvious animosity and antipathy Sergio always showed towards his stepfather. And it's so much worse than he ever imagined. It makes Fernando even more grateful for his parents - they may not have been able to offer much comfort or luxury to their kids, but they were surely never short on affection.

"You never really liked me, did you?" José muses, still absolutely undisturbed by Sergio's quiet fury. "I remember I once bought you a teddy bear - you were no older than four or five. I had one of your nannies give it to you and tell you it was from your mother. You wouldn't let go of that bear for nothing, not even during sleep. If someone tried to take it from you, you'd start to cry so loud I sometimes thought there was someone ripping off one of your limbs. So cute and innocent..." he trails off, smiling. For just a second there, he seems so genuinely lost in his own memories that Fernando almost, just _almost_ , believes he is being honest for a change. "Then one day I sat down with you and asked how you felt about that bear. You said you loved it. Then I told you the bear was actually from me. I don't think I ever saw you carrying it after that. In fact, I never even saw the bear again. Did you bury it in the yard or set it on fire?" Sergio doesn't respond, just shakes his head in disgust. "Well," Mourinho ploughs on. "All I wanted was a chance to be your dad, to be your family. But you never gave me that chance."

"Is that why you came here today? To talk about your butthurt feelings in front of Fernando? Do you want him to take pity on you?"

"Don't be silly, son. Of course not. I'm a businessman. That was just... A moment of weakness from an old man," he waves a dismissive hand in front of his face, wiping off, as though by magic, the little beans of warmth and kindness he'd shown just a second before. The vicious and nasty Mourinho is back. "I thought you'd know why I'm here, Sergio. In fact, I imagined you'd be expecting me."

"We know why you're here," Fernando cuts in.

"Oh - you do?" Mourinho frowns, somehow confused, eyes moving from Fernando to Sergio and back again. "Have you told him already?"

"What do you mean, have I told him? About you? That I quit? Of course I did," Fernando replies.

"I don't mean you, I mean Sergio," Mourinho says, turning back to his son. "Have you told him about our little bet?"

Fernando doesn't know why his brain doesn't immediately brush that little comment aside as nothing, just another mean attempt to provoke them. Mourinho is a dishonest man by nature. But the fact is - it doesn't. There's suddenly this sliver of uncertainty inside of him, shaking him off his base and making him uneasy.

"The... What?" he asks. The man next to him stiffens noticeably.

"We don't have to listen to him, Fernando." Sergio's hard glitter shifts into a near plea as their eyes meet, which is... Well, not very reassuring, for starters. "I can call the police and have him dragged out of here in no time. And there _is no bet_ ," he hisses back at his stepfather.

Mourinho simply rolls his eyes. "Tomato, tomahto. Call it a challenge, then. Whatever you prefer. I'm not a good loser, son, but the only reason I came here today was to congratulate you in person for your victory. Honestly, I didn't think you had it in you."

"I am going to -" he snarls once more, threatening to advance.

" _Sergio_." Fernando pulls him back, although with not as much intent as before, rattled by Mourinho's suggestion. It still makes no sense to him, but he doesn't like the sound of it.

José lets out a rich laughter, shaking his head at the two of them. "You see, this is funny because he's keeping you from hitting me, and in just about a minute he'll be wanting to - You know what? Why ruin all the fun?"

Mourinho fishes something out of the inside pocket of his jacket, a small silvery device that resembles a tiny iPod. He candidly leaves it on a corner table, perhaps knowing that trying to approach either Sergio or Fernando right now would be pushing his luck a bit too far. He does look very proud of himself, though. The realization is a bit embarrassing, but Fernando recognizes that smile from all their encounters in the past. It's the one he wears when Fernando's fucked the right guest and José get whatever it is that he wants from the person. 

"What is that?"

"That, dear Fernando, is the reason why I'm here. It's a digital recorder, and it has something in it that I think will interest you quite a bit. Once you listen to it, you'll understand why our family is so dysfunctional, and perhaps you'll even realize that it's not entirely my fault. I have a feeling you won't want to be part of the Mourinho-Ramos household either when you're done," he finishes with the sweetest of grins, like he didn't just say something terrible. 

"Get out!" Sergio vociferates.

"Don't worry, I'm on my way out. It was nice seeing you again, Fernando. And if you ever reconsider your decision - you have always been my favorite," the old man chuckles. "Isn't that ironic, son? You always worked so hard to make sure you'd be the complete opposite of everything you believe I am and here we are, competing for the same prostitute. Guess we do have something in common after all."

It's a good thing Mourinho disappears through the door right after that, because Fernando's not sure he would've been able to hold Sergio back any longer. Probably wouldn't have wanted either. 

Sergio walks away from him, pacing around the living room, fingers combing through his hair as he breathes out heavily.

"Are you ok?" Fernando asks, just to break the ice. The answer is obvious - Sergio looks like he might start climbing the walls at any minute now. 

"Am I - No. No, I'm not. Do you see why I hate him? Do you see what he _does_? That man is - He's pure poison. My whole life, my _whole fucking life_ , it's been like this. He sees something good and beautiful, he wants to take it down. He cannot _stand_ to see anyone around him being happy - he just _hates_ that, happiness. He's made my mother's life miserable and then he made my live miserable and now he acts like -" Sergio stops talking abruptly, perhaps realizing he'd been snarling and yelling and gesticulating like a crazy person, and that this is probably exactly what Mourinho wanted, to get him to lose his mind. 

"I'm sorry," Fernando offers, not entirely sure there's anything else he can say.

"Why? You don't have to be sorry about anything. _I'm_ sorry. I'm sorry you had to go through this and I'm sorry I didn't kick him out faster. I'm sorry I was yelling at you."

"It wasn't _at_ me. I understand."

Fernando can't really imagine a lot of people in this world have ever looked at Sergio Ramos and pitied him. He's surely a man who evokes many feelings, but pity is hardly one of those. Why would anyone ever feel sorry for a gorgeous rich man, who was born in a castle and always had everything he could possibly want in life? That's what any outsider would think, Fernando included. Until now, that is. 

It's honestly a little heartbreaking to see the look of hurt in his eyes; it's even easier to see all the wounds years and years as Mourinho's stepson have opened in him, never quite healed. Sergio might have lived a life of privileges, but it seems he never really had the one thing he coveted most: a family.

Fernando wants to cross the room and give him a tight hug and tell him everything's going to be fine because they still have each other and he can be all the family Sergio needs, can even borrow him a few family members if he wants. Anything to make him happy. But then Fernando's eyes fall upon the little device left by Mourinho and suddenly he's pulled out of his moment of warm affection and back into the reign of terror of a while ago.

"What is that all about?" he asks, pointing towards the recorder.

Sergio visibly deflates, looks away from him - and Fernando feels his gut clenching. "I... Don't know."

"You don't? He kind of sounded like you did."

"I... Have an idea. But I don't know for sure." Sergio stops, takes a deep breath. "Fernando, you shouldn't listen to anything he says. He's a mad man and he's hurt because you don't want to see him anymore."

"So... Did he make all that up? About me not wanting to be part of the family when I listen to whatever is in that thing?"

"He... Twisted things up. It's nothing like he said, it really isn't. I can... I can tell you. Everything. I've been meaning to tell you for a long time, I just... I never found the right moment."

Fernando hesitates. "Tell me what?"

Sergio opens his mouth and closes it again a few times without making any sound. Fernando's heart starts beating faster in his chest. He doesn't like the look of this, he doesn't like it _at all_.

"Sergio," he starts. "Tell me nothing he said makes any sense, that you have no idea what is this _bet_ thing he was talking about - swear to me that there is absolutely nothing in this recorder that could possibly be true and I won't listen. I'll just smash it with a hammer and never think of it again. Tell me. Please," he speaks as a near plea. 

Sergio only holds his gaze for a second, then shakes his head and looks away. "I... Can't."

 

 

_"Sergio! What a nice surprise to have you stop by my office without a schedule, like I haven't got anything to do at all. And, you know, it's the polite thing to let the secretary announce your arrival before barging into someone's office. I could've been busy."_

_"How do you do that?"_

_"How do I do what?"_

_"Your anniversary dinner is tonight."_

_"It is. Why? Did you not receive an invitation?"_

_"Oh, I did. Did your whore get invited as well?"_

_"Ah. So that's what this is about. I told you, son, if you couldn't stomach it, you shouldn't have gone to my party."_

_"How can you be so cynical? My mother spent two months preparing that stupid dinner party for your stupid stuck-up friends and you spent the entire night fucking that call boy. How can you not give a shit?!"_

_"One thing has absolutely nothing to do with the other, Sergio."_

_"How can it not have?! Do you think my mother wouldn't care if she knew? Or if she fucking believed in what I tell her for once?!"_

_"My feelings for your mother have nothing to do with whom I fuck. My parties are meant to be entertainment for important business partners, that's all. I know you don't appreciate my tactics, but they have been very effective in transforming your father's legacy into a global empire that you benefit a lot from. Sex sells and it makes good deals. I fuck prostitutes but I would never marry one."_

_"Right. Because none of them own multi-billion dollar companies for you to sit on the president's chair."_

_"Or because I don't actually love any of them. But suit yourself."_

_"Is that so? 'Cause I think you've developed very strong feelings for at least one of them. I watched you with that boy all night. He's your personal toy, goes wherever you tell him to, does whoever you tell him to, and then he goes back to you. You trained him well."_

_"Did you like him? I don't mind sharing, if you want. I usually save El Niño for the really important people, but... You're family, I could make an exception."_

_"You are paranoid, always think there's someone out to get you. You walk around with five gorillas around you, always watching over your own shoulders, never trusting anyone... You must really confide in that boy. How hard would it be for your business to lose him?"_

_"What are you talking about, Sergio?"_

_"I am going to take something you love from you, just like you took my mother and my father's memory from me. Mom doesn't believe a word of what I tell her about you, but she will when I get that prostitute to confess everything to her."_

_"Sergio -"_

_"When I'm done, there'll be nothing left for you. Your marriage will be over. Your place in this company will be gone. And your precious whore will be mine. Then you will know in your flesh and in your soul what it has felt like to be me for the past twenty eight years."_

_"That is... Really bitter, son."_

_"You have no idea."_

_"I think you're exaggerating a little. All that because I'm fucking a prostitute?"_

_"No. All that because I fucking hate you."_

_"Well, that makes more sense, then. I still think there's no need to get an innocent person involved in your revenge plan. What has that boy ever done to you?"_

_"Call it collateral damage."_

_"Well. Knock yourself out, then. I'll have you know, though, he's a hard one to crack, that boy. There's a reason why I like him. He's as professional as it gets with whores. I don't think you'll find it easy to convince him to turn on me. Whatever money you can offer him, I can offer double."_

_"I won't use money. I'll turn him on you in a way that will hurt you far deeper."_

_"Willing to get dirty, Sergio? 'Cause I could use that sort of instinct in the company."_

_"Enjoy the last days of your reign, José. I will take you down even if that's the last thing I do."_

 

 

As soon as the recording stops, the entire world dissolves around Fernando, ground disappears from under his feet. Breath leaves his body like he was just punched in the stomach. Or rather, like he was shot through the heart. His veins are wide open and bleeding and Fernando can't tell which way is up anymore. Everything's spinning around. The last seven months of his life are just a blur. A bundle of nonsensical memories that have simply become irrelevant. None of it was true. None of it was real. 

Fernando puts the recorder back where he found it and, very calmly, makes his way to the bedroom, where he starts collecting the discarded clothes from the floor. Already the memories of the time they spent here less than an hour ago are beginning to fade - the words exchanged, the promises made, the love he felt and thought was so big it could barely fit inside his chest. None of it was true. None of it was real.

"Fernando, wait," Sergio says, his voice so distant it's like he's speaking from a different room, a different galaxy, a different lifetime. "I can explain."

Fernando just shakes his head and shakes his head and shakes his head. Suddenly that's all he can do. 

"Stop picking things up, just - let me explain, ok? Hear me out."

Sergio sounds... Weak. Hollow. Sunk. He's desperate, but also hopeless. Fernando's eyes are burning.

None of it was true. None of it was real.

_Your precious whore will be mine._

"I wanted to tell you everything. I tried to, several times. I rehearsed every word and every apology in my head a million times, but every time I saw you, we felt so... Fragile. You didn't trust me enough. I didn't think you'd forgive me. I was afraid of losing you."

His voice is choked, tearing up. Fernando doesn't want to look at him. Can't stand to look at him.

_I'll turn him on you in a way that will hurt far deeper._

"I knew there was something off with you. The way you kept pushing, all that talk about a connection... It didn't make any sense," he finally says, looking for his shoes. 

He's talking to himself more than to Sergio. Everything is running through his mind like scenes in a movie. The bedroom balcony. They kiss. Cut. They're at the hotel room. He's turning him down. Sergio wants him still. Cut. Sergio's waiting for him at home. Cooking him pancakes. No one's ever done that before. He feels cherished. Cut. It's the middle of the night. Fernando wants to go home, but suddenly his compass starts pointing to a different north. He ends up at Sergio's. He feels love. Cut. He's losing Zlatan. Cut. Xabi's yelling at him for dropping clients. Cut. Stevie is telling him to follow his heart. Cut. He loves Sergio more than he's ever loved anything before in his life. Cut. His heart is in shatters. 

_Call it collateral damage._

"Of course it -"

"I _knew_ you were overreacting. It just didn't make sense that you'd be so interested in a prostitute for no reason. Of course there was something behind all that. _Of course_. God, I am the world's biggest fucking idiot there's ever been."

"No, no, no, no. Look. I admit it, I had an agenda - _in the beginning_. I had never even thought about doing anything of that sort until that party. It's not like I went there with a plan, or that I was waiting for you to find me hiding in my old room, it just - When I saw the way he ushered you around, how proud he was of you - I wanted something that would hurt him. I wanted to take something from him that would make him _feel_ , just as he had taken the only thing I had left from my father, which was the company, and turned it into this _monster_ of a corrupt corporation. Just as he'd taken my mom. She cared about nothing else but her phony marriage, spent all her nights crying at home while he was out with -"

"Me," Fernando cuts him off, ice cold. "Your mom was crying at home while your father was out fucking me."

There's a pause - a heavy, lengthy, spiky pause. And then, "He's not my -"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I keep getting that wrong. Your _stepfather_ ," Fernando snaps, anger slowly starting to build inside his chest, born out of the darkness left in that empty space where his heart used to be. "Is that why you decided to bring me into it? You wanted to punish me as well? The big bad whore who was making your mother miserable."

"It was never about you. I just wanted to get to him."

"So I was just not important enough for you to care."

"Fernando -"

"Just be honest, Sergio. For one goddamn time in your life, tell the truth. I was a whore - I _am_ a whore. You think I'm beneath you, some lower level citizen. There was no problem in tricking me, making me believe your stupid games just for the sake of harming the ego of your _step_ father. The end justifies the means because I'm not important enough."

"No. No, God! No, that doesn't - Of course not. I don't think you're a lower level citizen, I never thought that of you. I just... I didn't know you, and I was blinded by my hatred. I just - I wasn't thinking. But that was _before_."

Once he's properly dressed again - once he's feeling like half a human being, as though his clothes are, somehow, offering some kind of shield, Fernando finally turns around.

Right now, he's ire and bitterness, while Sergio is... Desperate. Pleading. Completely at loss. And yet it doesn't strike any chords with him. It doesn't steal his breath, it doesn't make him falter. Fernando is hurt. He's bleeding.

"I believed you," he says. "I fought Xabi, I lost clients, I... I was ready to change my entire life for you. To disappoint people that are important to me, if I had to. For you. For a lie."

None of it was true. None of it was real.

"Don't say that, don't - It wasn't a lie. You _know_ it wasn't a lie," Sergio begs, shaking his head. His eyes are red and his face is wet. There is not a single grain of compassion in Fernando. "It's _me_. It's still me. None of that changed. Nothing I said - I wasn't tricking you. Fernando, you _know_ me. It's _me_."

"You and your father deserve each other. You deserve the family you have." The words are coming out of his mouth coated in something nasty, something vicious. His eyes are still burning, his vision is getting blurry. He feels nauseated, but he's not going to break down. He refuses to. "You're awful, Sergio. You are so awful you don't even realize it. You're no different from him."

"No, Fernando -" Sergio chokes, bites his lip. "You have to let me explain. You're not _listening_."

"There's nothing to listen. It's just words. They don't mean anything to me." he says. "But hey - It's not all bad. At least you won your bet. Congratulations."


	12. The Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally meant to be the start of a very, very long chapter, but a I figured it didn't make any sense. I also think this might be my quickest update to date! \:D/ The next one might take a while longer, though. :/
> 
> I ask you to please be kind and forgive me for all the mistakes you will certainly find in this. 
> 
> Mandatory reminder that feedback is love and that I look forward to knowing your thoughts! I hope you enjoy it. :)

The phone rings.

Fernando has no idea what time it is or for how long he's been asleep. His head feels heavy and sore, a pain that starts in his neck and spreads through his skull as though it has tentacles tightly wrapped around his brain. It's like being hungover, only without the high and the buzz.  
He hasn't had a single drop of alcohol.

The phone flashes alive on the nightstand, persistent, the ringtone echoing inside Fernando's head and making it throb. He doesn't move a finger; can't muster that sort of energy. It's easy to imagine who it might be - the last person on earth he needs at this moment. Fernando wouldn't want to talk to _him_ even if the world was ending, if they were the last people standing, even if those were the final moments of either of their lives. Right now, never having to talk to _that_ person, or hear his voice, or look at his face, ever again isn't enough. Fernando wishes he could jump back in time and completely erase him from existing in his time line.

There's the sound of a door creaking and then heavy steps on the carpeted floor. Stevie appears on his line of sight, towel wrapped around his waist, and takes the phone away.

"Hello?" Fernando hears. Stevie's clearly trying to keep his voice down. "You have some nerve calling." A pause. "Oh, I'm hurt. You don't recognize me anymore?" Another pause. "Yeah, asshole. He's with me. Why the -" 

The bathroom door is closed and Fernando can hear no more.

He takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes, shifting only the slightest bit under the fluffy, heavy covers burying him in bed. 

There isn't an ounce of strength in his body. No fire to burn, no steam, no nothing. His limbs are so heavy, like his bones have liquefied. Fernando feels exhausted in a way he never felt before, or perhaps only a very long time ago, back when he was kicked out of the university dorm and had absolutely nowhere to go. It's this hopelessness that just consumes you entirely, leaves you in this lethargic, semi-comatose state. 

Since The Grand Collapse Of His Life, Fernando's learned the hardest possible way, how to weather the stormiest seas; he thought nothing could ever feel quite as terrible as that, so he was basically ready to take whatever blow came his way, with grace. This is different, though. This is The Grand Collapse: Part II. 

It's stupid. Just thinking about it makes him feel stupid. It's just _some boy_. Compared to all the things he's been through before, this is nothing. It shouldn't get to him like that. _But_. There is always a but. And _buts_ hurt like fuck.

Fernando is devastated. If there was a way to see him from the inside now, to have a real glimpse of what his soul looks like, it would be something like those awful, eerie pictures of a city right after an air raid. Everything is in shambles, everything is destroyed. Scorched earth. Nothing left to be salvaged. Absolutely crushed. 

He lowered down walls that had been built to last for centuries and was taken at his most vulnerable, played by someone he'd entrusted with the one thing he'd never laid bare before anyone before: his heart.

Fernando never believed in heartbreaks, to be honest. Not like this. Always saw it as an extreme exaggeration. However bad it might seem, there are more important things in life. He never quite thought it could feel this way. A pain that starts in some subconscious level of his brain and spreads out until it becomes tangible, physical; until he can't breathe. 

Not even the craziest and longest nights of work have left him this drained. 

Drained sounds about right. There's just nothing left in him anymore. He's given all he had. His heart, his soul, his sanity. Even his bones. His body is just this empty shell, being dragged down by gravity with the weight of disappointment, remorse and broken dreams.

Sleeping is the only way to make it stop. And it doesn't take long before he's pulled back into it.

x-x-x

Fernando left Sergio's apartment on foot. He wasn't really thinking during that part. He reverted back to the most basic of animal instincts: self-preservation. Someone was attacking him, hurting him. All he knew was that he had to get away from that toxic place and that toxic person as fast as he could or he would burn and he would die. So he sped across the posh streets of Chelsea, past elegant women walking their tiny little dogs and young men with their stylish Ray Bans and exaggerated quiffs. Running takes no measure of thinking; it's all knee-jerk reaction.

He paid very little attention to his surroundings or the people watching him with a mix of curiosity and preoccupation. He certainly wasn't dressed like a person out for a jog. And he can't know for sure, but he thinks maybe some of the anguish and the hurt he had inside might have been somehow reflected on his face in the shape of an ugly grimace or a strange sort of scowl. Not a very pleasant sight, probably: inappropriately dressed man running through rich neighborhood for no apparent reason looking pained. 

Later on, he realize how very little he had to do with that place and those people. Fernando stood out like a sore thumb. And it's not as if he wasn't used to posh neighborhoods - practically all his work was done in neighborhoods like that, all his clients were residents of fancy-looking streets and million-pound apartments, proud daddies of miniature dogs. But it's one thing to come and go, to be there as a character, as El Niño, and then leave; it's a completely different one to be there as himself, Fernando Torres, fucked up student turned luxury escort, with the intention of staying, becoming a part of it.

How in God's name did he ever think he could do it? How could he ever believe that there was any truth in Sergio's words, in his silly promises, when it was so obvious that Fernando didn't belong there, not with him, not in his place, not with his people? People like _Cris_ and José. Obnoxious and destructive. He wasn't one of them, would never fit in. How could he not see that it was all bogus? 

Hindsight is such a bitch. Everything becomes so clear once it's happened. It always makes you feel like the idiot of idiots.

It took him maybe twenty minutes to realize he didn't know what he was doing and that it was perhaps a little bit insane to try and make it back home on foot. His leg muscles were burning and threatening to give in from running too much, too fast. So he stopped a cab and asked the driver to take him to Mayfair. Not his place; the hotel where Stevie was staying.

Fernando didn't call or text to say he was on his way. He simply showed up. Stevie knew of his conversation with Xabi earlier, he knew about Mourinho and he knew Fernando would be seeing Sergio that night. Fernando called him as soon as he left Xabi's office, on the verge of a panic attack and desperate with anxiety, started babbling nonstop until he ran out of air and things to say. Stevie laughed and calmed him down, the way Stevie always does.

Stevie was the only thing Fernando could think of at that moment. He needed someone to tell him what to do, because he sure as fuck couldn't figure it out on his own. The thought of being alone was terrifying. He was lucky that Stevie was still in town; if he wasn't, Fernando would've had to jump on the first train to Liverpool and try very hard _not_ to lose his mind for three hours, a task he isn't sure he would've been able to accomplish.

He was also lucky that Stevie was at the hotel, and alone. It didn't occur to Fernando that Stevie might've hired someone else to replace him until he was already on the elevator. Only fair, considering he came all the way from Liverpool to see a prostitute and said prostitute turned him down. But it would've been really awkward. 

Stevie didn't, though. 

"I come all the way from Liverpool to see _you_ , Nando, not to have fun with escorts. If that was the case, I would've stayed at home with some Scouser lads. Don't fancy the Londoners all that much."

Fernando could've honestly cried at that, because he knew, in his heart, that it was true. Stevie chose _him_ , preferred _him_ , would have _him_ over any other boy, any day. He was someone's favorite. Stevie was real. Unlike Sergio, who had been nothing more than a cheap fairy tale. 

He didn't cry, though. He didn't have the strength to do it anymore.

Stevie lied down with Fernando in bed, petting his head while he poured his heart out. Fernando talked and talked and talked - at some point, he didn't even know what he was saying anymore, words were just rolling out, bare and completely devoid of any filters. Stevie said a few things here and there, soothing and indignant and outraged. By the time Fernando was done, his mouth was dry and his head was aching. 

"It's all right," Stevie said, his fingers combing through Fernando's hair. "You'll be fine. You're better off without that asshole. That whole family - they're fucked up." 

And that – it didn't exactly make anything better. It didn't even necessarily calm Fernando down. But it was good, in that moment, to have someone there to tell him that. It was good to have _someone_.

"Stay here tonight," Stevie offered, with a kiss on his temple, pulling the covers up to Fernando's neck. "Just rest now."

Fernando blacked out almost immediately, like some sort of overload system inside of him had suddenly pushed the off switch to avoid a breakdown. There was no rest in his sleep, but it was still better than being awake.

x-x-x

He wakes up again to the sound of voices bickering in the room. It takes a few seconds before it starts to make sense to him. They're obviously trying to keep it low, but failing miserably.

Fernando pulls the covers up, burying his head underneath it in hope that it will make them go away. He's too tired for that. 

"You're going to wake him up, idiot! Stop talking," Stevie talks under his breath.

"I just need to speak to him. It won't take long."

"You can't! When I told you where we were, I didn't mean 'Please, come and join us!', I meant, 'He's well taken care of, leave us be'. Can't you take a fucking hint?"

"I can, I just don't want to, you condescending prick. Let me talk to him for just one second and I'll be out of your sight."

"Absolutely not. He doesn't want to talk to you."

There's a grunt, followed by a 'Shhhh'. "Can I just -"

"Look, let's go down to the restaurant and I'll tell you whatever you want to know. You can leave a note or whatever. But you're not talking to him unless he wants to talk to you."

The disagreement goes on for a bit longer but eventually the door falls shut and the voices disappear.

Fernando breathes out in relief and goes back to sleep.

 

x-x-x

 

It's already dark the next time he opens his eyes, which means he's been drifting between long stretches of unconsciousness and really short periods of semi-wakefulness for almost 24 hours. His head still hurts and his stomach is making gurgling sounds. Very slowly, his senses come to alertness and he realizes there's a distinctive smell of food in the room - which is probably why his stomach is grumbling and probably why he woke up.

He pulls himself up into a sitting position, scratching his eyes with the back of his hands. 

Xabi is sitting on a chair by the bed. At first, Fernando thinks it's a mirage of some sort; he's been asleep for so long his head is hallucinating things, mixing dreams with reality. But when he scrunches his eyes shut and opens them again, Xabi is still there, next to a food cart, the source of the delicious scent of warm food. 

Fernando's brain was only half-functional, but he realizes the person talking to Stevie in the room earlier was Xabi. He can hear his voice now, recalling the conversation, even though he didn't recognize him at the time. Xabi was probably the on the phone as well, before.

Stevie is definitely not around. It makes Fernando antsy.

"Hi," Xabi says, with an amicable smile and soft eyes. So very different from the last time they met. "How are you feeling?"

Fernando licks his dry lips; there's an awful taste in his mouth.

"Here," Xabi says, pouring him a glass of water and handing it over. "You've been asleep for so long."

Fernando takes the glass and downs the whole thing almost at once. When he finally speaks, a moment after, his voice comes out raspy. "How long have you been there?"

"Sitting here? Not very long. I got Steven to agree to let me talk to you once you were up, as long as I didn't do it myself. He's downstairs, by the way, sorting out the room thing. He decided to stay for longer. For you."

Fernando looks down at his lap. He's a very selfish person; first Stevie comes all the way from Merseyside to see him just to get blown off, then Fernando shows up at his hotel room, a complete mess, and occupies his bed for an entire day. Now Stevie is staying away from his home and his family for God knows how much longer, just because he's an idiot who's fallen for a jerk and can't handle himself. 

He is a terrible, terrible friend.

"Are you here to gloat?" he asks Xabi, still not meeting his eyes.

"Why would I be gloating?"

Fernando shrugs. "Because you told me to stay away from him. You told me I'd regret it. Isn't that why you came here? To say _I told you so_?"

Xabi shakes his head, an awfully sad look on his face. "I'm sorry this is how you feel about me now, Fernando. I really am. Because I know I... I gave you enough reason to believe I'd do something like that. But it's not why I'm here."

"Did you tell him? José? Did you try to tell him about me and Sergio?" His voice comes out a little teary at the mention of Sergio. Even saying his name out loud is painful.

"Of course not. I was trying to scare you, but I'd never do that. I didn't even talk to José until a few hours ago."

There's a pause. "Did you know? That Sergio was... That he was..." Fernando has to stop, take a small breath. "That it wasn't true?" is the best he manages.

"No. I had no idea. Steven filled me in. I hope you don't mind, I practically made him." Xabi pauses, bites on his lower lip. "Fernando, I'm so sorry. I know what I said to you - I know it sounded like I was hoping it would end badly, but... The truth is I was afraid I'd lose you. Which is incredibly selfish of me, I know. But I never really thought it would go down like that. It just made me feel awful for how terrible I was to you."

Xabi shifts in his place, crosses his legs to one side and then to the other. He's so visibly uncomfortable. A bed side isn’t Xabi's natural habitat; apologizing is not standard behavior for him. Clearly he doesn't really know what he's doing. Fernando's not sure he should be glad or angry.

"How did you find out?"

"José called me to ask for Eden. I was confused, because he clearly said he wanted you before, so I asked why he'd changed his mind. His answer was that you wouldn't be working with him anymore and I -" Xabi stops talking abruptly as something akin to fear crosses his handsome features. "I was worried. It's why I came over, actually. I wanted to see with my own eyes that he hadn't... Injured you. I thought he'd done something. I was terrified."

Fernando thought the reason Xabi was there was to call him back to work. _See how evil and cruel this world is? Stick with me and it won't happen again. Come make a fortune as my boy and we'll let all this become water under the bridge_. Very opportunistic, but very Xabi-esque. It's definitely something he'd do, his businessman side always more prominent than his human one. After their last conversation, Fernando would put nothing past the realm of possibilities with Xabi. But this... This is unexpected. 

This scared, uncomfortable, apologetic Xabi is definitely not something Fernando could've ever anticipated. And, surprisingly enough, he finds himself believing the other man.

Either Xabi is a great actor, or he's being genuine here.

"He didn't hurt me. Not physically, anyway" Fernando says after a beat.

Xabi shakes his head, eyes filled with sorrow. "I'm sorry."

Fernando just nods.

There is a small spell of silence between the two of them, not very long at all, but longer than the lingering awkwardness between them can sustain. Xabi hurries to interrupt it, probably afraid of what the quietness might betray at the moment. Fernando’s afraid of that too. 

"I know I'm not a very welcome face right now,” Xabi starts again. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right. Or... As all right as possible. And also that you knew that I didn't... Fernando, I would _never_ rat on you. I would shoot Mourinho before he made me do that."

"I really thought you had," he admits. "But I'm glad you didn't. One less disappointment."

In a sudden move, Xabi stands up and walks towards the bed. He leans in, pulls Fernando into a half embrace and places a soft kiss on the top of his head. They stay like that, breathing in each other's scents, for a moment. It's... Relaxing. Soothing, in a way. It doesn't mend anything, but it is comforting to know Xabi didn't betray him. Fernando didn't realize how much the thought of that betrayal hurt him until he was convinced that it'd happened. This moment, right here - this embrace and this fraternal kiss, is the most intimate and affectionate he and Xabi have ever shared. And it shines a tiny little light in amidst the darkness reigning inside of him. Not all have been lost; it's good to know he still has Xabi.

"I'm sorry," Xabi whispers again before pulling away. "I'll let you rest now. Give me a call if you need anything."

Before he's out, Fernando calls his name. Xabi stops, turns back, eyebrows up to his hairline in expectancy. 

"I don't think I'll be coming back," Fernando says.

Xabi's expression is completely blank for a moment, but then he smiles. "I didn't think you would."

"I need some time," Fernando explains. "I have to... Think things through."

"Of course."

"If I do, though... If I decide to go back. Would you take me?"

Xabi lets out a huffing sound that is the ghost of a laugh and looks at Fernando with a half-grin gracing his features. "I'll always have a place for you. But I agree that you should take some time off, see what you really want to do with your life. Whatever you decide - I'll support you 100%. I won't make the same mistake twice and act like a jerk again."

Fernando senses the corners of his lips twisting upwards, just very lightly. Not quite a smile yet, but something like that. The best he can muster right now. "Thank you."

"No need to thank me. Just rest. And eat something. I can hear your stomach from here. I'll tell Steven to come up and stay with you."

And then he's gone.

x-x-x

 

When Stevie returns, a few minutes later, Fernando has already eaten half of everything that was on that food cart. He was _starving_.

"Hey," Stevie greets him, taking the seat where Xabi had been just a moment before. "Hungry, are we?"

Fernando finishes chewing the food in his mouth and swallows it down almost all at once, a guilty look on his face. "I'm sorry," he says. "I ate almost everything."

"That's all right. I already had dinner downstairs," Stevie says, and then widens his eyes a bit, shaking his hands in mock-fear. "With _Xabi_."

Fernando nods in acknowledgment. "Right. That happened... How did it go?"

Stevie shrugs. "You know. Highs and lows. Not as bad as I thought it would be, to be honest. We didn't bicker as much."

"That is hard to imagine."

"I know, right?" Stevie chuckles. "He was worried, though. Really worried. So all he wanted was to pry information out of me. He had to play nice for that to work. All the time I felt like I was being tricked. He was saying things in a certain way just to get me going." Stevie stops, points a cautionary finger in Fernando's direction. "That man has a devious mind. You can see it in his eyes."

Fernando can't really help the small smile creeping up his lips. Stevie is impressed with Xabi. Under different circumstances, Fernando would be laughing at this, teasing, poking some fun at him. It's still nice to know that his theory about the two of them getting along once they got to meet in person was right after all; he just can't get himself to be excited at the moment. That is just sad.

"What did you talk about?" he asks.

"You, of course," Stevie says, matter-of-factly. "He wanted to know what happened. Refused to leave until he spoke to you. I told him he could leave a message, but he just ignored me and decided to keep watch by your bed until you woke up. I think he wanted to make sure you knew... things." Stevie makes a small pause, his eyes softening. "How was _your_ conversation with him?"

Fernando looks away. "I don't know. Strange. Good. I can't tell."

"How come?"

"It's just Xabi was... Different. Not like himself."

"Do you think he was faking it?"

Fernando ponders over it for a moment. "No. I believed him. He wasn't lying. He was just... Different."

"You know, I have no base for comparison here, so I might just be talking out of my mouth, but... I thought he was genuine. He sounded genuine, anyway. I think he was terrified when he thought Mourinho had done something to you and that made him feel awfully guilty for the way he behaved. So he wanted to apologize."

Fernando nods in agreement. That's the impression he had too. It's interesting how Stevie spent just a couple of hours in Xabi's company and is already able to read him. They really must've spent a long time chatting at the restaurant. 

"Did you forgive him?" Stevie asks, hesitating a little.

"I... Guess. I don't know. He said he was sorry maybe a million times and it was... Good. It felt good to hear him say that. But right now, I'm just... I have no idea what I'm feeling. Maybe I'm still mad at him."

"Do you think you will ever forgive him?"

"Are you asking if I'm thinking about going back to work?" Stevie tilts his head to one side, lips pressed into an apologetic smile, like he doesn't want to be talking about that at the moment, but can't really help doing. "I haven't thought about that yet. I need some time. I told Xabi as much, he didn't seem to mind."

"Fair enough," Stevie agrees, getting up from the chair and sitting by Fernando's side on the edge of the bed. Fernando blinks at him; Stevie smiles, his eyes resting on the Spaniard with affection. "On that note. I was thinking... Why don't you go back to Liverpool with me?" 

"You... what?" Fernando asks, a light crease on his forehead.

"Just for a while," Stevie continues. "I talked to Xabi about this and he actually agrees with me, surprisingly though it might sound. At least on that regard. We both think it will be good for you to leave London for a while. Clear your head, you know? Somewhere different. And I also don't like the idea of that Mourinho man on the loose. What if he has more planned? Xabi is practically a gangster and he was scared for you, so it might be reasonable to be a little afraid to share the city with him right now. Besides, it would be nice to have you back."

Stevie watches him with expectancy. Fernando touches the side of Stevie's face gently, caressing his cheeks with the tip of his fingers. "You are too sweet," he says. "A lot more than I deserve."

Stevie shakes his head and plants a small kiss on his palm. "I care," he replies, simply.

"I know. And sometimes I wonder if I deserve this."

"You deserve a lot more, Nando. And I can't even offer everything you deserve. A season in Liverpool is the best I got."

Fernando removes his hand and takes a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs completely before slowly allowing it out. "I can't," he finally answers.

Stevie frowns, visibly deflating. "Why not?"

"Because..." His eyes flicker away for a second; he doesn't know how to tell Stevie what he has to without hurting his feelings. Or something. Their relationship has always been very complicated; it crosses the limits between personal and professional. Right now Fernando needs to feel defined by more than just his occupation, more than what Sergio makes of him. And to do that around Stevie… Is not very easy. For all their history, for all that Stevie represents. 

"I love Liverpool, Stevie. And I love you. But right now I can't... Be _that_ person. You know what I mean? I can't go somewhere where I'll just feel... Myself. I don't know if that makes sense."

"Not... really," Stevie says, eyes narrowed pensively.

"I can't be a prostitute right now. But I also can't say no to you."

"Nando, come on. You think I'm asking you back to _work_?" Stevie shakes his head, voice filled with indignation. "I just want you to be safe. I can't stay here for much longer. If you need anything, it's a three hours journey at best. I can keep you company if you're in Liverpool. And I don’t mean _that_ kind of company."

Fernando takes Stevie's hand in his, squeezing it lightly and rubbing his thumb on the curves of the other man’s knuckles. "I know. But I also know what happens when you and I get together for too long. Especially in... Rooms. I'm not just talking about you, I mean me. But that would make me feel terrible with myself and it wouldn't be fair to you. I just really need to get away from all that for a while."

"Ok," Stevie says after a beat, pressing his hand back. "I understand. Do you have something in mind?"

There's a small pause before Fernando speaks, his eyebrows knitting together slightly in confusion. His own idea and how certain of it he suddenly is, surprises him. It hadn't crossed his mind right until this second; it certainly hadn't crossed his mind in a long time. "I think I'm going home."

"Oh," Stevie says, just as bewildered as he is. "Really? To Spain?"

"I know, it sounds weird. I haven't been home in... God, it's been a while. Two years, I think. Maybe more."

Slowly, a grin breaks onto Stevie's lips. "That's actually not a bad idea at all. It would do you good. And you couldn't be further away from this Mourinho, Ramos - whatever their last name is - mess. Madrid is a good place. It's _sunny_. You need sun. London is just going to depress you to death with this boring rain all the time."

"Yeah..." Fernando says, as he processes the decision he just made, without even being aware he was making it. Fernando keeps his family visits to a minimum in order to avoid... Problems. It's safer to keep a distance than risking having to explain things he's not ready to explain. He does miss them, though. A lot. It’s hard to stay away from the people he values and cares for the most in the world the way he makes himself do. Doesn't matter how long he's been doing it, it never gets any easier. And this run in with the Mourinho-Ramos family... It just reminded him once more of how truly fantastic his folks are.

Fernando could really use being around fantastic people right now. The idea of seeing his mother and father again warms up his heart just that tiny bit, enough to put a smile – a real one – on his face.

"I'm going home," he repeats. 

Not twelve hours later, he's already on a plane to Madrid.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet y'all thought you'd never see another update here, huh?! Well, I admit, for a while there I had my doubts. But here it is! More explanations on the foot notes.
> 
> As always, and because it's been a while, I have to remind you that this story hasn't been beta'ed and that English is not my first language. I try my best, but sometimes I don't notice mistakes for some time (I'm always going back to correct stuff), so I apologize beforehand for all the mistakes you might find. :(
> 
> Your feedback is very much appreciated and it really is the only thing that might keep me going at this point. If you'd like to see more of this story, just drop me a note and let me know what you think of this chapter. =)

The first and the last thing Fernando remembers is Sunday afternoons at the park, kicking a ball around with his dad, his little brother still too young to do anything but chase it aimlessly, his sister napping on his mother's lap as she peeled tangerines. Fernando would stop every time he felt he'd done a particularly impressive trick and wave to make sure she'd seen him. All he wanted was to make her proud.

They lived considerably far from the beautiful touristic area surrounding Parque del Retiro in Madrid, but at least once a month every summer his parents would hop on a bus with their three kids and a bag of tangerines. It was Fernando's favorite thing ever. His family didn't have much money - well, actually, that's an understatement. They had virtually _no_ money, which meant his parents were working more or less _all_ the time just to make ends meet. Free weekends, bus rides and tangerines were a luxury and even at a very young age Fernando understood that. He learned how to tell when things were about to get harder by the way his mom's easy smile would morph into a permanent frown and his father became tormented by his own thoughts. It was tough, being so young and so aware, to the point he'd sometimes wonder whether it was his fault his parents were so miserable, if his mama and papa wouldn't be much happier without him and his siblings around.

But then along came summer and their Sunday trips to the park and suddenly everything was better. Fernando felt loved and happy and he knew whatever happened, they'd still have one another, and that was enough. It would always be enough.

The day Fernando left for university was positively the happiest he ever felt in his life - and, up to that point, also the saddest. The excitement of the adventure ahead partially eclipsed by the fear of being away from the people he loved the most. His mother and father and siblings all waving goodbye as he walked towards the boarding gate, tears in their eyes, so proud of their boy who would go to England to start a better life. They didn't have to say a word for Fernando to understand that, in that moment, they felt like everything they'd ever been through, every hardship, every double and triple shifts, every dream they had to postpone or bury to make sure their children would have a better shot at life, was finally paying off. All the tears they shed in the darkness of their room, hiding from the kids not knowing they could still be heard, whenever it seemed that they just wouldn't make it, were worth it. They suffered, but there it was, Fernando grew up to be a smart, resourceful and determined young man and he'd go places. He'd make them all proud.

That's what they think to this day, except it didn't go exactly that way. Fernando was an ungrateful bastard who did not appreciate enough the opportunity his parents worked so hard to give him. The minute life got a little bit easier and temptation became palpable, he succumbed. Where his parents were fierce and strong like rocks, Fernando was simply weak.

It wasn't so much the part that he was homeless and forced to murder the last shreds of dignity he still had to survive that did him, but the guilt. It ate him up inside. It was agonizing to think of his parents' reaction when they found out. Trapped between the dread of going home and prostitution, Fernando considered putting an end to his misery several times, falling short of it only because that would _definitely_ destroy his family. Not only they'd find out about everything - that he'd been kicked out of the university dorm, lost his scholarship and started selling his body for a few quid - but they'd have lost a son. There's no way his mom would ever recover from that.

The irony lies in the fact that in being completely undone by the circumstances of his live, Fernando toughened up. He became a fighter and a survivor, but in his core, he's still a coward, incapable of living with the weight of what his truths will do to the people that matter the most in the world to him. He's lost all sorts of illusions regarding dreams and hopes, all dropping dead behind him through the years, the last of them (love) torn apart in such brutal way that he had to leave the city to try and escape its devastating force. But, in amidst a kingdom of darkness and skepticism and selfish motivations, there's this little beacon of bright, warm light, where the only thing that is good and holy and _real_ survives in him. That's his family. All that is left of innocence and goodness in his world boils down to four people and a house in Madrid. And that's exactly how Fernando wants to keep them: safely away from the horrors that populate the rest of his existence.

It's not that he doesn't miss his folks; he does, very much, all the time. But Fernando's aware of his anti-Midas touch, ruining everything within his reach. There's absolutely nothing good that could come from allowing them to get too close, which is why he rarely ever visits and is very much grateful that they hate long distance travels and think they'd be too _inconvenient_ if they ever showed up in London. His parents' lives have been way too hard already; they've earned the right to live sheltered by the bliss of ignorance for the rest of their days. 

It's terrible to deceive his own parents like this, with fake diplomas and photoshopped graduation pictures, but they'd never take his money if they knew where it comes from and they'd probably feel betrayed and hurt for all the years they unknowingly did. And it was his work as an escort that got them living in a comfortable house in a much better part of the city that doesn't keep them all huddled like cattle into a tiny single room. It was his work that paid for his sister's studies and his brother’s university tuitions. It's paid for the bakery where his mother and father work and that is becoming more and more popular by the day. It's not even hard to convince himself that all the humiliation of the past and the degrading situations he still has to put up with from time to time are worth it, because it really is, without a doubt. 

What his family doesn't know cannot hurt them, and that's the only truth that matters. His brother and sister will have proper careers and proper families and they'll provide enough real pride to make up for his fabrications.

Besides, Fernando has never even gathered the courage to tell them that he's into men. How in God's name will he break the news that he's also into screwing them for money? 

x-x-x-x-x-x

It's been years since he last saw Madrid in the summer; he'd forgotten how amazing it is. His mind immediately reels back to Sundays at the park, a memory that fills his heart with happiness, with that certainty that everything will be all right. And that's exactly what he needs, exactly what he came here for: healing.

At first he thought all he needed was to spend some time alone, away from London's terrible weather and Sergio Ramos and his fucked up family, but frankly, not even one week into it and it's already driving him crazy. Fernando doesn't know how to stay still and do nothing; he needs to keep moving, to find something to occupy his mind. It's exactly when it's quieter that sorrow finds its way back inside.

He decides to start running at the park. Every morning, Fernando rides the subway and goes for a jog. He realizes he's gone way too lazy in London, because it _kills_ him in the beginning. The weather doesn't help much; Madrid is _hot_ and _dry_ and not all the water in the world leaves him satiated. But he keeps pushing, and it's a bit like a punishment at first, with the sun burning his skin, his legs dragging from the heat, his lungs struggling just to keep up. He forces himself to suffer, pushes his body to the extremes of fatigue until his calves are cramping up and his brain cannot focus on anything other than the pain. Fernando literally runs until he's doubling over and falling down on the grass. And it's _good_. It reminds him that he's alive and whole, that no single person (outside of his family, probably) has the power to break him.

Soon enough he gets used to the rhythm and the exercises cease to be penitence to become pleasure. All those endorphins and the tan he suddenly acquires make him feel healthier and stronger than he has in a very long time, even if just on the outside - it's something already, he reckons, to make his skin thicker and reinforce his armor. When he walks by, shirt hanging over his shoulder, sweaty hair matted down to his forehead and a constellation of freckles more apparent than ever on his face and also on his torso, people actually _look_ at him. Mostly girls, but some guys too. And, sure, Fernando knows he's a handsome man, he makes a living out of that after all, but it's different now, because it's not _El Niño_. He's not wearing his confidence cape. It's just him, just Fernando, nothing else.

His jogs power him for the rest of the day, gives him more energy, like he can take on anything that comes his way. He calls that _hope_ and crosses his finger that one of these days he'll be able to go back and face the rest of his life as well.

x-x-x-x-x-x

Halfway through his second week in Madrid Fernando begins to get dangerously bored.

There's nothing at all on TV and sitting around brooding gets old pretty fast, even though he's getting exceptionally good at it. His sister hangs out with him sometimes, but even she has more of a social life than Fernando on his best days - Mariana has tons of friends and invitations to virtually every single party in Madrid. It makes Fernando feel both old and lonely. It's when he starts to miss Cesc that he realizes he's losing it.

He considers what to do with his evening and decides it's about time he moves out of his ass and start hitting some bars or whatever. So what if he doesn't know anybody anymore? It's not like he's not _good_ at this. Being home makes Fernando feel terribly self-conscious again, like when he was on his early teens and had to swear on everything holy that the reason he spent so much time stuck in his _best friend's_ home was because he was _mad_ about the boy's videogames (which wasn't entirely a lie) and not because they'd been sucking face and figuring out the wonders of lending each other a hand. Sixteen years later and Fernando still can't get himself to tell his parents about this.

It feels weird to say 'Mom, dad, I'm stepping out for a bit,' but they don't make any questions, just smile and wish him a good evening. He might feel 13 when he's around his family, but they treat him like the nearly-30 year-old that he is.

He's already heading to the subway when he realizes he's got no idea where to go. Fernando considers asking Mariana for tips for about two seconds before demoting himself of the idea; how the hell is he supposed to even ask that? 'Hey, little sis. I'm heading out for a few drinks, can you rec me some place cool? By the way, I'm gay. XOXO'.

Fuck this shit. A quick TripAdvisor search on his phone will have to do. It's never totally safe and usually more touristic than anything, but isn't that exactly what Fernando is in Madrid, a tourist? What the heck.

He heads out to Chueca, certain that he ought to find _something_ good enough there - if not a bar than at the very least some well-done cocktails. There's nothing special about Chueca during the day, what with all the excessive traffic and the constant renovations all around; come night, however, and it's like the whole place comes alive, vibrating and pulsing with music and character. It's a very democratic and welcoming neighborhood, and you can find all sorts of people hanging around, having a beer, sharing sangria jars and laughter with friends and strangers alike. But there's not much mystery about which demographic Chueca is really all about; if the same sex couples freely expressing their love isn't clue enough, then the rainbow flags and walls and extravangtly colorful neon light signs make it clear that it's an LGBTQ neighborhood.

It's _exactly_ Fernando's kind of place, but for a moment there it is all _too much_. He feels awfully exposed, afraid someone might recognize him from his childhood or from his parents' neighborhood or worse - from London. He walks in the shadows and hangs his head low, afraid that people might be able to see it written on his forehead that he's for sale. Fernando's never been one to advertise his services, but he's never been embarrassed by it either, not exactly; now, however, he doesn't think he'll be able to run fast enough if someone approaches him to ask his price. It's confusing, as though he's not the same person in England and in Spain, and right now he can't really tell which is real and which is a fraud - although he's inclined to believe that, given the amount of years he's spent wearing El Niño's mask every night, his Spanish persona is likely to be the deceiving one. Does anyone really ever stop being what they are just because they've changed venues? Isn't a lawyer always a lawyer, wherever he goes? Why would it be any different with a prostitute?

His night is already taking a turn for the worse and he's frankly beginning to regret the decision to leave the safety of his parents' place when he spots an unassuming, not too flamboyant-looking club and decides to drown his sorrow and uncertainties in booze. It usually works. Loud pop music is playing inside, but it's not Lady Gaga or Britney Spears and Fernando's good enough with anything not so completely cliché. There seems to be a lot of people, but it's not crowded, so it's easy to find a spot by the bar. Fernando starts with two shots of tequila to get him started and then Pimm's because England has rubbed off on him after all. Rum is all the rage these days in Spain apparently, but it's never been Fernando's thing - Cesc would accuse him of being a fancy bitch if he could see him right now. The thought gets a smile from Fernando both because it's true and because he cannot brush aside the irony of missing Fàbregas on a night out when he used to avoid the other man's extravagant company like the plague.

He's on his third tequila shot and second Pimm's, finally starting to just enjoy the music and the vibe, when someone approaches him. It's a young man, probably younger than Fernando, shorter as well, with blond hair that reminds Fernando of his own past wrong coloring choices and very thick dark eyebrows. He's not exactly handsome, but not hard to look at as well, and that indefiniteness makes the man kind of interesting, kind of appealing. He speaks in a broken Spanish accent and for some reason Fernando thinks he seems French, although there's nothing exactly about him giving that away, and when he asks if Fernando would like to dance he says 'Why the fuck not?' and joins the guy on the floor.

He's not wasted, not yet, but he's moderately drunk that he's able to let himself go and have fun without a hint of self-consciousness and for once that feels _good_. It's been a fucking long time, if you ask him.

It crosses his mind at some point - somewhere between Frenchy's bold hands starting to roam Fernando's backside and the moment he starts kissing Fernando's neck - that if his life was the fairytale he allowed himself to believe it was just a few weeks back, then he would not be slutting around in clubs just because he can't have the object of his affection. Heroes fall in love and, however far away or dead their love might be, they _stay faithful_ and that's what makes these stories _epics_. Fucking around with strangers for comfort is easy; it's mourning the old fashioned way that really fucks you up and tests the greatness and undying-ness of your love.

But he's not a hero, he's a fucking whore, and his love was not epic either, it was a scam - or, more precisely, a _bet_. Heartbreaks are not healed by silent prayers and self-penitence, they're healed by blow-jobs and dirty sex in bathroom stalls. 

He's drunk enough to understand and accept that truth, but apparently not drunk enough to go ahead with it. Either that or Frenchy is just really not his type - he bites too much and that whole blond hair-dark eyebrows thing is way too Cara Delavigne for his taste. They furiously make out, though, but then Fernando announces he's going to get some drinks and leaves the club instead, which is such a bastard move he's pretty sure he'll be feeling guilty once sobriety comes knocking. 

He heads back home and stumbles into his bedroom - the one his mother makes sure to keep empty exclusively for his sake, even though he's never there - at about three maybe four a.m., plastered and slightly dizzy, and nearly breaks his neck tripping over his own suitcase on the floor. He carefully pushes himself to his feet, winces slightly, rubbing his neck and feels a bruise forming just under his ear, where Frenchy nibbled with appetite. That will require an explanation later.

Fernando wakes up the next morning from something that isn't so much sleep as an awkward drunken state of unconsciousness with his head pounding and the taste of alcohol and bile (and Frenchy maybe, a little) in his mouth and realizes almost immediately that he's way too fucking old for this. He can't stay at home moping around and he can't go out to get wasted and hook up with random people every night either. There has to be something more effective and less poisonous to keep him functioning and not thinking about crushed fairytales and prince charmings that turn out to be evil queens.

That's when he decides to start working at the bakery to help out. His mother is against it at first - "This is your vacation, son!" - but is eventually convinced by his resolve. 

If working doesn't do the trick, then nothing else will.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

Turns out his parents really were thinking about hiring someone else to help at the bakery. Business has been growing and summers are always busy, especially with his mother only baking her famous almond macaroons with tangerine and marmalade and tangerine almond poppy seed cupcakes exclusively around this time of the year (it's all about tangerines in the summer for the Torres' and Fernando loves that so much he can't quite contain it). 

The bakery is not very big, but the single person working behind the counter and waiting the few tables they usually have inside does get pretty overwhelmed when they add a few more outside and the place gets _crowded_. Mariana usually helps, but she's taking summer classes this year and his brother is still on his summer trip with the university and mother and father are swamped in the kitchen, already hired two new people to help.

So there, one problem solved.

Except Fernando's never waited tables before in his life and peak season is probably not the best of times to hire newbies. 

"It's a lot of stuff, but it's not quantum physics either," is what Iker, the other guy working at the bakery, tells him.

Iker should probably be pissed off that they hired an incompetent who'll make his work double terrible instead of someone experienced to ease the pressure a bit, Fernando thinks, but if he is, he doesn't show it at all. Quite the opposite. Iker takes his time while the movement is still weak on the first hours of the day to show Fernando every single thing - from how to operate the cashier, to the usual routine before opening and after closing time, to the modern tablets system he introduced to take orders which sends everything straight to a screen in the kitchen and registers automatically what every table has requested, so all he has to do to get the check is choose a number and press a button. Easy, peasy.

As for remembering exactly the name of every single thing on the menu and how to operate the espresso machine, well...

Fernando has to run by him every single order, because with the exception of the summer special tangerine pastries, which he knows by heart, the entire menu is basically made up of things he's eaten half a dozen times but has never bothered to learn the fancy French names they get called by. Iker shows him again when he gets a simple double espresso wrong. And yet again when he forgets how to make a cappuccino and a mochaccino and a Frappuccino and what the hell is a macchiato anyway? 

Iker just _laughs_ , like it's funny and not annoying, which Fernando definitely doesn't get, because even _he_ is annoyed and starting to regret his stupid idea to work at the bakery - seriously, what was he _thinking_? But Iker is not miffed at all, he is super nice and patient, even when the bakery starts to get busy and it becomes even more obvious how Fernando is just getting in the way. It's frankly embarrassing; Fernando knows if it was the other way around he'd be pissed off and snappy, not helpful and kind. He never had any patience for the nervous newcomers shadowing him back when he still worked at Xabi's club, although even thinking about how his life experience relates to the situation seems ridiculous.

By the end of the day, Fernando's completely worn out but with a sense of satisfaction he doesn't think he's felt in a very long time. 

"Too much?" Iker asks him when they've finally closed the bakery. The other man's behind the counter, doing the accounting of the day, while Fernando idly wonders how many positions this one person occupies within the shop. He seems to do _everything_. At this point he wouldn't be too surprised if Iker also doubled as a pastry chef from time to time. He's somewhat of a superman.

"A bit," he lies. "You can tell me if you never want to see me here again. I was a pain in your ass all day and I deal very well with rejection."

He lets out a hearty laugh that is both too enthusiastic for how exhausted he should be at this time of the day and also extremely genuine. It makes Fernando smile back at him, in spite of himself. 

"We've all had first days. It's fine."

"I doubt very much you ever had a first day as bad as mine."

Iker snorts. "Ask your sister what I was like when I started. Or don't. It's best if you don't ruin the first impression you had of my superb time management skills," he says, punctuating his sentence with a wink.

"Your first job as a barista and waiting tables was here?"

"Yup. Two years ago."

"You could've fooled me," Fernando replies, genuinely surprised. He would've thought Iker came with a gigantic list of recommendations from previous employers in the business, considering how absolutely efficient he is.

"Don't worry; you'll catch up in no time. Just remember to smile."

"Don't think smiling is gonna help me much when I ruin another customer's macchiato."

"You'd be surprised by how much people are willing to forgive when a good looking person smiles at them," Iker says, prompting Fernando to cock him an eyebrow. The other man notices and, not taking his eyes away from the computer screen, adds. "I'm dead serious."

"Uhm... Ok," Fernando says, because he isn't sure whether that was just honest teaching or a throwaway compliment, and either way he doesn't know what to say. It's more like a fact, a flattering observation, and where London Fernando would usually offer a smirk and a cheeky type of answer, this Madrid version of him is much more uptight and has no idea what to do.

"And anyway, I'm here to cover for you in times of need, so it'll be fine," Iker continues, finally looking up at him with a grin. "We'll be a good team."

Fernando has more than a few doubts about it but, for some reason, he believes that.

 

x-x-x-x-x

After one week on the job, Fernando has two opinions formed on Iker Casillas: the man is extremely annoying in the same proportion that he is admirable.

Really, it's a joy to watch Casillas work. Mesmerizing, even. Fernando has to remind himself to stop staring and start doing his own job. Iker moves about with such grace and such purpose, never missing a beat, it's almost like he works to the fine rhythm of a music only he can hear. He carries the trays up and down and around with such ease and dexterity, remembers exactly what each person ordered, makes funny and smart remarks about how delicious the cakes and cookies are today and "You made such a good choice! I tried this cream earlier and they had to slap my hand to make me put the tray down" which is total bullshit. Fernando was here when he arrived, he didn't try anything, just had coffee - which he made for Fernando as well, it's a thing he does every morning, coffee for two - but he makes it sound believable, and Fernando can see it on the person's eyes how they are immediately convinced that _it is_ the best cake or cookie or whatever they could possibly ever have. If Casillas says it, then it must be true.

That man has a true talent for selling stuff. He could probably be working anywhere, in any kind of shop, and he'd be equally successful. It makes Fernando wonder why then he chooses to be in such a small bakery. The business is growing, yes, with a decent payment (he knows that because his father wanted to pay him for his work, which is _absurd_ to the point of offensive in Fernando's opinion), but nothing great, nothing like what Iker could be making somewhere big, selling expensive stuff to rich folks. And that just makes him even more intriguing in Fernando's opinion. He _likes_ his job, very much so, you can see it on his face how he's perfectly glad to do what he does and to wake up every morning and head to the bakery, and it makes Fernando proud to know that his parents are such good employers and have such a good business that they can keep a man with Iker's talent interested and satisfied.

He also envies the man a bit. There used to be a time when he loved his job as well, and now he cannot remember what that feels like. 

All in all, Fernando's first week on the job turns out not to be a complete disaster. That first horrendous day was an odd one out, which he can see is quite understandable once he's stopped beating himself up about it. Iker still has to save his ass several times, but he isn't totally disgraceful and manages to remember what each of the most ordered items are exactly by the end of his third day. By the fifth he can already operate the complex espresso machine with reasonable success for the largest part. Also, Iker wasn't completely wrong about the whole smiling thing. It does help a lot. People really are inclined to being generous and forgiving when they're smiled at, although if that's because they think Fernando's attractive or simply because he's being _nice_ and honest about his first week on the job he can't tell.

People are obviously very generous to Iker as well, fat tips and everything, because he smiles to absolutely every soul, all the time - and that's the part that annoys Fernando a little bit. It's so effortless to him, he just wakes up and he's in a good mood. It's his natural state of being, apparently, and everybody _loves_ him, which, granted, isn't hard at all, but _come on_. Nobody can be _that_ happy all the time! And the thing is he doesn't even have to, because he never gets anything wrong and delivers his orders at the speed of light, even having to stop every now and again to check that Fernando hasn't screwed anything up too badly yet. 

That probably explains the cult following he's got. Some customers show up every two or three days, some _every_ day even, roughly at the same time, and wave Iker over for a bit of small talk - which he indulges, of course - like they're old friends. They don't explicitly say what they want, just _the usual_ , and of course Iker knows what _the usual_ is to each and every one of them, he never forgets a thing, knows all their names and what they've talked about the day before and the week before and even the month before so that he can offer follow-up questions such as "So how's your brother doing?" or "Did you get that thing that you wanted?" or "How was your date the other day?" that are cut out to make anyone feel special.

Fernando's family's business is a success because his mother's baking is brilliant _and_ because Iker Casillas is a flirt, and a genius one at that. He never seems to be invasive or inappropriate or even particularly seducing; he's just a really nice guy who shows genuine interest in other people's lives and most of them are more than happy to share. He hardly ever says anything about himself, Fernando notices - nothing too deep, anyway, like about a family member or a friend or places he's been too, it's only superficial stuff, such as books or movies or what he's stolen from the kitchen today and cannot wait to recommend (always a lie, although everything is good so he'll hardly ever miss). It's professional level stuff, a technique Fernando knows very well from using with his own clients, winding them up when they start getting too chatty and interested in his life outside of the hotel rooms by being vague and turning the spotlight around (people love being the undivided center of anyone's attention, even someone they've basically paid for that).

It's a bit horrible to draw parallels between what Iker does and what he does, but, well. A job is a job.

"Is he always like that?" Fernando asks Mariana when he gets home from the bakery on a Saturday.

"Like what?"

"Like a ray of sunshine."

Mariana laughs like she gets exactly what he means, like he's just used the _perfect_ word to describe Iker.

"He's a doll, isn't he? I don't think I've ever seen him on a bad mood. Sometimes he's quieter, which I guess means he's not having such a good day, but never with a frown."

"God. That must be exhausting."

His sister shrugs. "I wish _I_ could be more like that. It certainly brings many admirers."

"Oh, I've noticed."

"You have?" Marina leans her chin on her palm, suddenly all interested. 

"How could I not? They show up every day. Iker just taps my arm and says, 'I'll take that', and I already know it's one of his friends."

"They're not even friends. They only ever see Iker when they come to the bakery." Even more ingenious then. "But they just keep coming back. I swear some of them are seriously in love with him. He laughs when I mention it, but I think he knows it too."

"Does he take some of those girls out or something?"

The smile on Mariana's face expands with a type of amusement Fernando can't quite comprehend. "Nope."

"Wow," he finally concedes. "Then he really has a brilliantly wicked mind."

"I confess I wasn't completely on board when mom and dad decided to hire him. He didn't really have the qualifications we needed at the time, but dad saw something in him, I suppose," Mariana explains. "As always, dad saw things ahead. It was like he could tell Iker would end up attracting more people to the bakery."

"Basically, he was hired because he's good looking?"

Mariana smiles wolfishly. "So you've noticed he's good looking, too."

Well. You would have to be _blind_ not to, Fernando thinks, but doesn't say it. His taste in _guys_ isn't something he discusses with his family. In spite of Mariana's strange interest, Fernando merely shakes his head. "Not the point."

Sighing, but quite clearly amused, his sister says, "Just a little bit more time, Nando, and you will realize that the sweetest item on the menu at that bakery is Iker Casillas."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know... Almost two years without an update. :/ I feel terrible. It's not that I haven't tried, it's just that I've been terribly stuck with this one. For the past two or so months I've been forcing myself to move forward because the end really isn't (supposedly) that far, but there always comes a point where I just get stuck again, so I figured it was probably time to change my strategy. The idea was to release just one big chapter with this whole Madrid part, but I'll be dividing it into as many parts as I have to make sure I can advance with the story. Maybe writing small bits at a time will work? We'll see. I figure if maybe there's still enough people willing to read this after such a long time it might inspire me to continue. Also, REALLY SORRY for taking so long to update.


End file.
